


When I Look at You

by mille_libri



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:44:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 79
Words: 151,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7254877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mille_libri/pseuds/mille_libri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ferelden during a Blight seems an unlikely setting for a love story. But love often finds a way to grow in the most unlikely places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ostagar

Una Cousland looked around at the Tevinter ruins she was walking through. Once upon a time these must have been grand halls, filled with beauty. Now chunks of stone lay all around; the Wilds were in the process of taking back their space.

"So this is Ostagar," Una said. Duncan nodded briefly, but said nothing. He had grown increasingly less conversational as they'd approached the camp.

She was staring up at the Tower that reached into the sky over all of it when Duncan grabbed her wrist. Una stopped walking and looked up, realizing that in her distraction she had almost run right into the King of Ferelden. She blushed furiously, and Cailan laughed. Una remembered meeting him a few times before, when she'd gone to Denerim with her father. Memories of the destruction at Highever Castle washed over her. She blinked as her eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, what did you say, Your Majesty?"

"You seem distracted, my lady. I … hope your family is well?"

"Well?" Una looked up disbelievingly at the King. He looked quite serious. "Do you mean you don't know?"

Cailan frowned. "Know what? We've been expecting the Teyrn any day now. Fergus has been most anxious."

"My father … my father isn't coming," she said, trying to hold back the tears. "He and my mother are dead. As are Fergus's wife and child, and the rest of our people. Duncan and I are the only ones who made it out of the castle." The King looked shocked and bewildered. "Arl Howe attacked us!" she said.

"Rendon Howe? My dear lady," Cailan said, looking at Duncan doubtfully. "Surely you must be mistaken."

But Duncan shook his head. "It is true, Your Majesty. Howe waited until the young man had taken all the troops with him, and then he attacked the castle, slaughtering everyone he found there. The Teyrn and his wife …" He looked at Una sympathetically.

Cailan's jaw dropped. "I can't believe Arl Howe could be so … This is stunning. My deepest sympathies, my lady," he said to Una, his face softening as he turned toward her. "You have my word that this will be looked into as soon as the battle is over. The Teyrn and Teyrna will be avenged, I swear it." He crossed his arm to his shoulder, bowing to her.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Una said, trying to hold back the tears. It had never occurred to her that Cailan wouldn't already know what had happened. "Do you— Do you know where my brother is? I have to tell him." Her voice quivered, and she couldn't get the images of her nephew and sister-in-law out of her mind.

"I'm afraid Fergus and his men are on patrol in the Korcari Wilds and won't be back until after the battle," Cailan said. "I'll do my best to see to it that he finds you as soon as he's back."

Una was torn. She had so looked forward to throwing herself into her big brother's arms and sharing her grief with him. But she hadn't relished having to tell him about his wife and child, much less their parents, and didn't entirely mind the reprieve. She felt Grenli press his big body against her knee and rubbed the dog's head with her knuckles. Thank Andraste for Grenli. She didn't know what she'd have done without him.

The King's voice broke into her thoughts. "The Grey Wardens and the King of Ferelden, side by side! It will be glorious," he was saying to Duncan. "Just like the old legends."

"Your Majesty, I wish you would wait for the reinforcements—either from Redcliffe or the rest of the Grey Wardens from Orlais." Duncan sounded weary. "It is unwise to be hasty when there is a Blight to defeat."

"I don't even think this is a true Blight," Cailan complained. "I wanted to see the dragon at the head of the horde and take it down." His eyes took on a faraway look. Then he glanced back at Una. "But you must be tired after your long journey and everything you've been through, and I must get back to Teyrn Loghain before he sends a search party out for me. Until the battle!" he called, his armor clanking as he walked away.

Una had yet to participate in a real battle, but she remembered—all too vividly—the attack on Highever Castle. There had been nothing of glory in that. Only blood and ugly death. Perhaps real battle was different? She knew her father and Fergus both looked strangely exhilarated when talking of their battles. Maybe it was a man thing. She didn't know, but something in Cailan's bluff overconfidence was concerning to her.

She said as much to Duncan as they walked toward camp. He said little, really only grunted, but he seemed to agree with her, and her worry grew.

As they reached the entrance to the main camp, Duncan paused, looking at Una not unkindly. The girl had been through a lot, he thought, and yet she was handling it well. The brain was busy behind the young face, and over time she was talking less and observing more. Her parents would be proud.

He gave Una orders to stay in the camp, and to seek out Alistair when she had finished her explorations. As he watched her move away in an awkward lope, he wondered what they would make of each other. Alistair was a strong and talented young man, but not used to women. This girl would bowl him right over.

Meandering through the camp, Una felt only a slight interest in the goings-on about her. Knowing she wouldn't be able to find Fergus until after the battle, everything up to the fighting seemed like filler, although she was curious about the ritual Duncan had mentioned. She chatted with a mage named Wynne, did some trading with the quartermaster, then went in search of the other Grey Warden Duncan had told her to look for, assuming he would be some kind of older fighter like Duncan himself.

She followed the pointing finger of a camp guard and came upon a young man—only a few years older than she was, by the looks of him—chatting with a mage. Could this be Alistair? She had a moment to watch him as the two concluded their conversation. The mage was clearly hostile, while the Warden managed to keep his temper and get in a few good-humored digs. He was a good-looking man, blond and tanned. His nose was strong and prominent, and his light brown eyes twinkled. As she listened, Una was struck by his sense of humor, which seemed much like those of her family. Una thought with relief that at least she'd be able to talk to him, maybe joke a bit. It might feel more like being home. Duncan was nice enough, but so solemn that she always felt like a chastened child around him.

The mage eventually stormed off in a huff, brushing past Una with an undeservedly rude word. Alistair turned his gaze on Una, and she felt a jolt of lightning as their eyes met. She hadn't been expecting that, not at all, and it was all she could do to remember to breathe.

"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together," Alistair said, grinning a bit, but there was sadness behind the smile.

"Does it?" she asked, collecting her thoughts with an effort. "I think someone forgot to tell your mage friend."

"Every party has to have a few sour faces disapproving of everyone else's fun," he said. "I'm Alistair."

"Una."

"Duncan's new recruit, right?" He held out his hand.

She shook it, feeling a wave of heat sweep through her at his touch, her heart pounding. Oh, this is bad timing, she thought, trying to pull herself together, floundering for something, anything, to say. "How did you know? That I'm Duncan's new recruit?"

"There aren't a lot of women in the Grey Wardens."

"And I take it you would like there to be?"

"Would that be a bad thing? … Not that I'm some drooling letcher, or anything." He groaned, covering his face with his hand. "Please, stop looking at me like that."

They both laughed. The situation definitely had promise, Una thought. At least working with him would not be boring. As her eyes flickered over his handsome face, she thought distracting would probably be a better word.

"Have you fought any darkspawn?" he asked, looking at her seriously.

"No, never," she said. "Have you?"

He nodded. "Just once. And I'm not in any rush to do it again. They're disturbing."

"How so?"

"They look like men … but they're corrupted. Blotchy and covered with nasty growths and things."

"Sounds unpleasant," she said.

"To say the least."

"Have you been a Grey Warden long?"

"Only about six months," he said. "Before that, I was in the Chantry, training to become a Templar. Duncan thought my skills might be useful and conscripted me. The Revered Mother was fit to be tied," he added, chuckling.

"I'll bet. The Templars seem pretty possessive."

"You can say that again. But I never wanted to be a Templar, anyway—didn't have much choice in the matter—so I was happy to leave." Alistair started to say something else, then seemed to think better of it. "We should get back to Duncan," he said. Was it her imagination, or did he sound somewhat reluctant? She hoped he wanted to keep talking to her instead, and chided herself for being a romantic fool.

"I look forward to traveling with you," she said, meaning it. He reminded her of Fergus. If Fergus was incredibly handsome and definitely not her brother.

Alistair blinked. "You do? That's a switch." With which cryptic comment, he turned and led the way toward Duncan's fire.

As they walked, Alistair studied the girl. He couldn't quite believe this was Duncan's recruit. She looked young. Too young to be fighting darkspawn. But in all the time he'd known Duncan, Alistair had never known him to misjudge a person. There must be something there under those wide eyes. They were a curious color, Alistair thought, hazel, but so light they might have been gold. Tilted, like a cat's. And huge in her face. All her features were large—the wide, generous mouth, the strong nose—but they fit, and formed a striking combination. And she was tall. Taller than Alistair himself, he had to admit, although just barely. He was taller than most men, and had never met a woman as tall as he. Certainly not one who was also as slender and trim as this one. She walked awkwardly; he expected her to trip on her own feet at any moment. But she was clearly confident, and it was nice to meet someone who shared his sense of humor. Duncan mostly shook his head and sighed at Alistair's jokes, but Una had caught his comments and thrown them right back. He'd be interested to see how she fought, Alistair thought as they reached Duncan.

They were joined at Duncan's fire by the other recruits, Daveth and Jory. Daveth's face lit up at the sight of the young woman, and he sidled close to her, not seeming concerned that he only came to her shoulder. Jory, on the other hand, appeared quite discomfited by her presence, and especially by her height. He clearly didn't like looking up at a woman.

Una, lapsing into the silent watchfulness her mother had always encouraged her to do more of, noticed Duncan's eyes flicker quickly from herself to Alistair and back again. A speculative frown crossed his face. Una had hoped her intense reaction to Alistair would escape Duncan's observation, but she had a sinking feeling Duncan could tell exactly what was going on in her mind.


	2. Morrigan

Duncan sent the four of them out into the Wilds to collect vials of darkspawn blood and find some treaties the Grey Wardens had signed with various factions long years ago—and had left, for some unknown reason, in the midst of the Wilds.

Una found herself taking the lead of the little group. Dough-faced Ser Jory was willing enough, but preferred to follow. Daveth, the former cut-purse, was more of a guerrilla fighter, not much of a leader. Alistair hung back a bit also, although she thought that was probably to see what the rest of them would do.

As they moved deeper into the Wilds, they found darkspawn in plenty, filling their vials quickly. Una didn't find her first experience with darkspawn as disturbing as she had feared she would. They were creatures to fight, albeit smelly and disgusting, and fighting was something she did well. She remembered the long hours in the training circle with Father and Fergus with a mixture of sorrow and pride, and wished she had some way to tell her father how grateful she was for her years under his tutelage.

The chest in which the Warden treaties were supposed to be kept was harder to find. Eventually they located it, but the chest was broken and the treaties missing.

Una knelt down by the chest, searching for any trace of the papers. Her head snapped up when a voice came out of nowhere.

"Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger, poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned?" It was a smooth, female voice, cultured but cold.

Standing up, Una looked in the direction of the voice. There, climbing over a pile of rocks, was an exotic creature—a woman, but she moved and looked almost more like a cat. She wore only the briefest scraps of fabric, arranged to fall not unattractively in strategic locations. Coming closer to them, the woman continued, "Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?" She stopped, crossing her arms and staring at all of them. "What say you? Scavenger … or intruder?"

When none of the men spoke up, Una took a step forward. "I am a Grey Warden, and the Wardens once owned this Tower."

The woman seemed amused. "The Wilds have claimed this desiccated corpse long since." She strode through the group of them, all three of the men hastily falling back to allow her to pass. "I have watched your progress for some time. You fight … adequately. Turning to look at Una, she said, "Particularly you. Strange to see a woman fight so fiercely. And now here you are, disturbing shadows better left alone. Why is that?"

"Don't answer her. She looks Chasind," Alistair said in a low voice. "Others may be nearby."

"Ohh," mocked the woman, "you fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?"

"Yes," drawled Alistair, looking grim, "swooping … is bad."

"She's a Witch of the Wilds, that's what she is," Daveth broke in, with barely controlled panic. "She'll turn us all into toads!"

"'Witch of the Wilds,'" the woman snorted. "What kind of mindless imbecile is frightened by a mere story?" She looked at Una. "Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name, and I shall tell you mine." For a moment, she sounded to Una like a little girl trying to make a friend.

Una glanced around. None of the men seemed to offer her much guidance, so she said, "I'm Una."

"You may call me Morrigan. If you wish." The little girl seemed to peek out again. Then Morrigan crossed her arms, and the little girl vanished. "You sought something in that chest. Something that is here no longer."

"'Here no longer'?" Alistair broke in, feeling that as the senior Grey Warden of the party, he should try and take back some of the momentum. "Did you take them? You must be some kind of …" he looked for appropriately crushing words, "sneaky witch-thief!" _'Sneaky witch-thief'?! Great, Alistair. Way to sound intelligent._

"How very eloquent," Morrigan purred. She looked back at Una, clearly not seeing Alistair as a viable conversational partner. "How does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily, it seems. Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them," Alistair said before Una could respond.

"I will not, for 'twas not I who removed them," said Morrigan, and Una could see a flash of irritation in the other woman's eyes. "The Grey Wardens have no authority here. I am not threatened." She looked pointedly at Una, waiting.

"There are four of us, heavily armed and armored," Jory put in. "Does that not threaten you?"

Morrigan glanced briefly, contemptuously, at Jory, before looking back at Una, her eyes challenging.

Not sure what game was being played, but sensing that being direct was the way to go, Una asked, "Where have the papers gone?"

"My mother has them."

"Your mother?"

"Do you imagine I sprung from a mushroom? Or, perhaps, a toad?" Una noticed that all three men took a step back at the mention of toads. Morrigan looked amused. "If you wish, I will take you to my mother. 'Tis not far from here, and you may ask her for your papers, if you like."

Una looked at Alistair. He frowned, looking around at the shadowy, overgrown wilderness. "We need those treaties, but I mistrust this … Morrigan's sudden appearance. It's too convenient."

When it appeared no further decision-making was forthcoming from Alistair, Una turned back to Morrigan. "Why are you interested in helping us?"

Morrigan seemed surprised by the question. "Why not?" she asked after a moment, shrugging. "I do not meet many people here. Are you all so mistrustful?"

"I say we go with her," Una said.

"She'll put us all in the pot, she will," Daveth said, sending a surprisingly rabbity glance toward Morrigan. Una had thought he was a bit braver than that, actually, but sometimes magic undid the most stalwart hearts, she reflected. Her old friend Ser Gilmore had never flinched in a fight, but the mere mention of maleficar had him reaching for his lucky rabbit's foot in a panic. Poor Rory, Una thought, remembering the last time she'd seen him, stalwartly defending the doors of the castle. That rabbit's foot hadn't helped him in the end.

"She'll cook us for supper!" Daveth's strident voice brought her back to the present.

Jory snapped, "If the pot's warmer than this forest, it'll be a nice change."

"Suit yourselves," Morrigan said. She turned away, as though it didn't matter to her if they followed her or not. Una was pretty sure that was an act, but she followed anyway, hearing the clanking of the men's armor as they brought up the rear.

Morrigan led them to a little cobbled-together hut in the midst of the Wilds, where an old woman waited, her eyes glittering and shrewd in her wrinkled face.

"Greetings, Mother," Morrigan said. "I bring before you four Grey Wardens who—"

"I see them, girl," the old woman said, her voice forceful. She looked them over with a piercing glance. "Hm. Much as I expected."

"Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?" Alistair asked, sounding amused. Una thought he sounded incredibly sexy, too, which surely wasn't right for this time and place. Oh, Una, you foolish girl, she chided herself. Turning back to the older woman, she surprised a raised eyebrow and a small smile, as though the woman knew exactly what she'd been thinking. Una's estimation of these women, and thus her sense of the potential danger of the situation, went up a notch.

"You are asked to do nothing, least of all believe," said the older woman sharply to Alistair. "Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arms wide. Either way, one's a fool."

Una looked at the old woman with renewed interest. It was a paraphrase, but the sentiments were those of her favorite general, Lord Eidric Cairados. His _Treatise on Warfare_ had been the most well-worn book on her shelf.

"She's a witch, I tell you," Daveth hissed. "We shouldn't be talking to her."

"Quiet, Daveth. If she's really a witch, do you want to make her angry?" Jory snapped. It was the most useful thing he'd said yet, Una reflected.

"There's a smart lad," said the old woman, in a tone that indicated that neither Daveth nor Jory held any interest for her. "Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things." What did she mean by that? Alistair thought. He'd think of those words again later that night, and wonder what the old apostate had seen in the men's futures. "But it is not I who decides," the old woman continued. "Believe what you will. And what of you?" She stepped forward, a new interest in her voice, looking up into Una's eyes. Again, Una felt the power of the other woman's gaze and knew that her thoughts were being read. "Does your woman's mind give you a different viewpoint? Or do you believe as these boys do?" She waited for the answer.

Una met the older woman's gaze without flinching. As directness had worked with the daughter, so, she suspected, it would work with the mother. "I'm not sure what to believe."

"An answer that contains more wisdom than it implies," said the older woman, but the regard of her eyes on Una changed, becoming deeper, though somewhat less piercing. "So much about you is uncertain," she went on, stepping closer to Una. "And yet I believe— Do I? Why, it seems I do." Her upraised eyebrow and the faint hint of a smirk dared Una to ask what she'd meant.

"Is it true, then? Are you a Witch of the Wilds?" Alistair asked, breaking into the moment between the two women.

"'Witch of the Wilds'," the old woman scoffed. "Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it. Oh, how she dances under the moon!" She threw her head back and laughed, doing a creditable impression of a crazy old Wilder woman, but Una was not fooled. Morrigan, meanwhile, dropped her head into her hands and groaned in embarrassment. Una sympathized. Her own mother had made her feel like that on many occasions.

"They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother," Morrigan protested.

The old woman sobered. "True. They came for their treaties, yes?" She looked at Alistair. "Before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago." She went into her hut, returning with a sheaf of papers. "I have protected these," she said, handing them to Una.

"You did?" Alistair asked in surprise.

"And why not?" The arch look and the smirk faded from the old woman's face, and she looked deeply into Una's eyes. "Take the treaties to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight's threat is greater than they realize."

"How do you know?" Una asked, disturbed.

"Do I?" The sly secretiveness was back in the woman's eyes. "Perhaps I am just an old woman with a penchant for moldy papers." She laughed again. "Do not mind me. You have what you came for."

"Time for you to go then," Morrigan said sharply and with unconcealed relief.

"Don't be ridiculous, girl," said her mother, and now the private joke in her eyes was hidden from Morrigan as well. "These are your guests."

"Oh," said Morrigan. Reluctantly, she continued, "Very well. I shall … lead you out of the woods. Follow me." They trooped behind Morrigan as she led them through the wilderness. Reaching the camp, Una turned to thank the other woman, but she had melted into the Wilds. Standing there, Una felt that this wasn't the last time they'd see Morrigan. She wondered under what circumstances the next meeting would be.


	3. Joining

They walked toward Duncan's fire, not speaking. Una, mindful of her father's training, carefully considered what she had learned of her companions. Daveth was a rogue fighter—not a leader, but good at flanking and stealth. Magic and superstition had a powerful hold over him, however. Jory was spoiled. He liked his comforts, and whined about anything that took him out of them. He was a good, strong fighter, with little concern for the terrors of magic, but would never put himself forward and would avoid discomfort whenever possible.

Alistair—well, there was just no getting around it, Alistair was the most attractive and desirable man she'd ever met. His jokes, his already-obvious habit of fixing his hair after every battle, the confidence in his fighting stance were all fascinating to her. She forced herself to consider him objectively, however, hearing her father's voice in her memory. "Pup," he'd said, "you must care about the people you fight with. You must care enough to see them for who they truly are. Once you stop recognizing their flaws, you become dangerous to them. And vice versa."

With that in mind, then, she considered Alistair as dispassionately as she could. When fighting, he was powerful, thoughtful about tactics, and alert to the shift of the battle's center. Outside of combat … she assumed he had hung back through most of the Wilds on orders, to watch the rest of them. But he had also stayed in the background as much as he could during the encounter with Morrigan and her mother. Una wondered what his training had been before the Chantry. He seemed cowed, in some ways. Unwilling to put himself forward. And it hadn't bothered him at all when she had taken the lead with the two apostates. She suspected there was a sharp brain in there, but that he'd never been pushed to make a lot of use of it. She'd have to see about that, she thought. Oh, Maker, listen to me, trying to change the man already, she thought, rolling her eyes at her own foolishness.

Alistair had, indeed, been charged with watching all of them. He'd seen Una's awkward lope disappear the moment her sword cleared its scabbard, the way she paused to scope the field before attacking, the directness with which she took charge of the team. He'd also been impressed by the way she'd handled the apostates. His own Templar training had kicked in, and he'd been little more useful than Daveth or Jory, but Una had been straight-backed and unafraid as she'd faced the other women. Duncan had done it again, Alistair thought. The two men were decent fighters, sure. But the girl—the woman, he corrected himself, for no mere girl fought like that—was a find. Why her noble parents had let her go, Alistair couldn't imagine. He hoped she would survive the Joining.

In front of Duncan, Daveth and Jory postured a lot, acting as though they'd been the leaders. Una's mouth quirked up sardonically. Men were always doing that—the ones she'd sparred with, and beaten, at the castle had always felt the need to pretend that they'd let her win. Looking at Duncan's shrewd eyes, she could tell he didn't entirely believe the story he was being fed. And Alistair caught her eye, grinning and shaking his head just slightly after a particularly pompous comment of Jory's. At least the two actual Grey Wardens didn't seem to think less of her because she was a woman, and a young one at that, Una thought in relief.

Alistair stayed behind at Duncan's fire when the other three were sent off to get ready for the Joining. "What did you think of our recruits, Alistair?"

"Daveth's good enough," Alistair said. "And willing. Takes direction well. Jory," he made a small face, "is not happy about this. Doesn't like fighting the darkspawn, doesn't like being led, doesn't want to put himself forward. Not a coward, exactly," Alistair said slowly, wanting to be fair, "but not … brave, either. Soft? Soft." He nodded. It was the right word.

"And … Una?"

Staring into the fire, Alistair said, "She's amazing, Duncan! A born leader, a natural fighter—she'll be an excellent Warden." His enthusiasm flagged a bit at the thought of the Joining, and he said more softly, "I hope she gets the chance."

Duncan's eyes were sharp as they rested on Alistair and caught the reddening of the younger man's cheeks. He had already noted the change in Una's breathing when Alistair looked at her. He masked a small smile by reaching into a pack for the Joining materials. So the sparks were already flying. Intriguing, Duncan thought. He clapped Alistair on the shoulder. "As do I. Will you go and make sure nerves aren't getting the better of our recruits while I finish the preparations?"

Alistair nodded, moving off to where the other three waited. Jory was complaining about the wait and the mystery and being dragged away from his young, pregnant wife in Highever. Daveth was taking Jory to task, reminding him of the importance of the Grey Wardens in ending the Blight. Una watched them both, her face impatient. All three turned when Duncan came up behind them, looking equally distressed.

As Duncan began to explain the ritual, the drinking of the darkspawn blood, Alistair observed the recruits' reactions. Jory was disgusted and terrified, looking about him for a way to avoid the unpleasantness. Daveth was disturbed but his face was set, determined to see the course through. Only Una's face was unchanged. Alistair wondered why, how she could be so unmoved.

Una didn't look forward to drinking the blood of the darkspawn any more than the others … but she had accepted the moment she took Duncan's hand and led him out of Highever Castle that she would do, without complaining, whatever was necessary to become the Grey Warden her father would have wanted her to be. To show reluctance would be to shame his memory.

"We speak only a few words prior to the Joining," Duncan said, turning with the Chalice in his hand. "But these words have been said since the first. Alistair? If you would."

Alistair glanced at Una, then looked hastily away. The solemnity of the words and the importance of the ritual overcame his concern for the young girl with the wide golden eyes. "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you." There was a silence, then Duncan lifted the Chalice, turning to Daveth. Daveth drank without hesitation. Then he crumpled to the ground, moaning in agony. His eyes rolled back in his head, he twitched once, and it was over. Una's eyes filled with tears and Alistair looked stricken.

"I am sorry, Daveth," Duncan said solemnly. Then, turning to the knight, "Step forward, Jory."

Panic-stricken, Jory drew his sword, stepping back. "But … I have a wife," he said. "A child! Had I known—"

"There is no turning back," Duncan said, his voice steely.

"No! You ask too much," Jory cried. "There is no glory in this!" His sword wavered in his hand, and he looked wildly around. Una was torn between pity and disgust, and felt foolish just standing there and doing nothing. She noticed Alistair had edged in between her and Jory. Was he trying to protect her?

Duncan drew his dagger. He easily parried Jory's sword thrusts. Closing with the knight, Duncan thrust the dagger into his belly. Catching Jory on his shoulder as the knight fell, he said softly and with deep feeling, "I am sorry, Jory."

Una realized she was clinging to Alistair's shoulder as she watched this. She didn't blame Duncan for what he had done—she blamed Jory, frankly, for not having the courage to follow through with what he had agreed to do—but she hated to see a life wasted. Alistair's hand covered hers and squeezed it reassuringly. She could feel the tension in him, and knew he didn't like it any better than she did. She let go of him, taking a step back, as Duncan eased Jory's still form to the ground, turning to her.

"The Joining is not yet complete," Duncan said, his voice sorrowful but firm. He handed the Chalice to Una, who took it in both hands. "You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint," Duncan said as she stared into the cup. "For the greater good." Without hesitation, she lifted the cup to her lips and drank deeply. Duncan and Alistair both stepped away from her as she fought to keep the liquid down, feeling the burning spread through her limbs. "From this moment forth," Duncan went on, his voice seeming to echo in her head, "you are a Grey Warden."

Then the pain hit. She doubled over, seeing visions of a screaming dragon, hearing voices shaft through her head, calling to her. She could almost understand what the voices were saying.

When she knew anything again, Duncan was cradling her head on his arm, and he and Alistair were gazing at her in concern. There was naked relief in Alistair's face as she sat up, her head beginning to clear, and, although well-hidden, relief in Duncan's eyes, too. "It is finished," he said. "Welcome."

Alistair reached down to help Una up. She resisted the urge to cling to his hand. Alistair didn't want to let her go, either. The distress he'd felt, watching her fall to the ground, was overwhelming, as was the happiness that bubbled through him when it was clear she was going to live. He felt guilty, feeling that way with the bodies of Jory and Daveth still lying there, but he couldn't help it. He was ridiculously glad that she had survived.

"When you have recovered somewhat," Duncan said, watching the two of them with carefully disguised interest, "Una, please join me at the Council table. The King has requested your presence."

"I'm fine," said Una. "I'm ready to go now."

"As you wish," Duncan said, inclining his head. He couldn't help but feel a certain pride in her resilience. "Alistair, will you—?" He gestured at the scene behind them. Alistair nodded, but his eyes lingered on Una as she walked away. He'd never known a woman could have that much courage and determination. Of course, he'd never known that many women. Maybe they were all like that … but he doubted it.

The Council table was surrounded by tense people. Una could feel it coming off them as she approached. Cailan turned when she came up, as did a dark-faced man in plate armor. _Loghain Mac Tir_ , she thought in wonder. The Hero of River Dane! Loghain and King Maric had been responsible for driving the Orlesians out of Ferelden and taking the kingdom back. She didn't remember ever having met Teyrn Loghain, but she'd heard many stories from her father. She wondered if the Teyrn knew what had happened to her family. Maybe after the battle she could talk to him and he could help her see that Arl Howe got what was coming to him.

The King turned to her with a look of welcome, congratulating her on officially becoming a Grey Warden. He had fulsome praise for the order before being recalled to the matters at hand by Teyrn Loghain. Cailan turned back to the Council table with a sigh, looking over the map. He and Loghain, with the representatives of some of the other groups in camp, were arguing over the best set of tactics. Finally it was decided that Teyrn Loghain would hold his men in reserve until he saw a prearranged signal from the Tower of Ishal, at which time he and his troops would fall on the darkspawn.

Teyrn Loghain seemed unhappy about this plan, but was eventually prevailed upon to follow it. He told Cailan not to worry about the Tower, that his men would be there taking care of lighting the beacon. Cailan looked up and caught Una's eye, grinning at her. "I think we should send our best to accomplish this important task," he said, shifting his gaze to Duncan. "Have Alistair and your new recruit here stationed in the Tower to light the beacon." Duncan inclined his head, while Teyrn Loghain sputtered at the king about overreliance on the Grey Wardens.

Eventually the arguing died down. Una wondered how anything ever got done, if so many people's opinions must be appeased regarding every decision. Duncan touched her on the shoulder, motioning her toward his fire. They walked together. Una wanted to ask a number of questions, but the forbidding look on Duncan's face kept her silent.

Alistair was waiting at Duncan's fire. He looked at both of them, his face expectant and eager.

Duncan turned to face them both. "You heard the plan," he said to Una. "You and Alistair will go to the Tower of Ishal and ensure the beacon is lit."

"What?!" Alistair said, his mouth dropping open. "I won't be in the battle?"

Duncan looked at him sternly. "This is by the king's personal request, Alistair." There was an emphasis on "personal" that Una didn't understand, but Alistair clearly did. His face fell. "If the beacon is not lit, Teyrn Loghain's men won't know when to charge."

"So he needs two Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch," Alistair said with a noticeable sneer. "Just in case, right?"

Una looked at Duncan. "I agree with Alistair. We should be in the battle."

"That is not your choice," Duncan said to them both, biting his words off one at a time. "If King Cailan wishes Grey Wardens to ensure the beacons are lit, then Grey Wardens will be there. We must do whatever it takes to destroy the darkspawn … exciting or no."

Una looked down at her boots shame-facedly. A true soldier should not question the orders of the commander. Hadn't that been drummed into her head often enough by her father … and her mother, who had considered herself the commander of the house?

"I get it, I get it," Alistair said with a sigh. Then he grinned. "Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line. Darkspawn or no."

"I think I'd like to see that," Una said.

Alistair turned his smile on her. "For you, maybe," he said. "But it has to be a pretty dress."

Duncan looked at the two young people in front of him, sighing. It was good that they could find humor in the darkness. He just hoped they could be serious long enough to complete the task in front of them. "It is time," he said gravely.

"Duncan," Alistair said. "May the Maker watch over you."

"May he watch over all of us," Duncan said.

Each of them clasped their right arms over their chests, bowing toward each other. Then Una and Alistair turned, heading toward the bridge to the Tower. Una felt a soft, wet nose nudge itself into her hand, and looked down. Grenli stood there, his solid bulk reassuring. He wore an expression she'd never seen before, and she knew she was now truly seeing the wardog in her pet.


	4. Flemeth

By the time they got there, the battle was in full swing, with flaming projectiles hurtling toward them. Halfway across, the three of them were sent flying by the concussion of something smashing into the bridge. Getting to their feet, they kept moving, finally reaching the base of the Tower to find a panicked mage running toward them.

"You're the Grey Wardens, right?" the mage gasped. Without waiting for an answer, he cried out, "They've taken the Tower!"

"Who?" Alistair shook the man, trying to get him to calm down some. "Who's taken the Tower?"

"The darkspawn," the mage said. "They've— They've killed everyone!"

Una and Alistair looked at each other in shock. What were darkspawn doing in the Tower? Calling for the mage to fall in with them, they started forward, battling their way through darkspawn all the way to the Tower steps. The mage, though clearly in shock, stuck with them as they went in, finding more darkspawn inside. Grenli was in his element, attacking and fighting. As they came to the second floor, Alistair shouted in Una's ear over the din, "Where did they come from? There aren't supposed to be any darkspawn this far from the battlefield!"

Una shrugged, shouting back, "You were complaining you wouldn't get to do any fighting, weren't you?" She understood now a bit more about the elation she'd seen on Cailan's face and in her father and brother after their battles. Her blood was up and she felt … invincible, her blade biting into the darkspawn left and right. She'd picked up a greatsword in one of the rooms on the first floor, and swinging its heft gave her a fierce joy.

Alistair looked at her, admiring the high color in her face and the fire in her golden eyes. "I suppose it is a bright side, at that," he said. "Come on—we've got to get to the top of the Tower to light that beacon!"

On the top floor, an ogre awaited them. They hacked into it together, Alistair climbing on top of it to plunge his sword into the ogre's chest and finish it off. He looked up at Una. "The beacon's over there, but we must have missed the signal. We have to light it now before it's too late!"

She nodded, running to the beacon and setting it alight. Down on the battlefield, the men saw it and a tremendous shout went up as they anticipated the fresh troops of Teyrn Loghain. But unbeknownst to all, when Loghain saw the beacon, he ordered his lieutenant, Ser Cauthrien, to sound the retreat instead. She stared at him with her mouth open, but he grabbed her wrist, hissing, "Do as I say!" And in her loyalty, she assumed he had a good reason, and she did as he ordered.

On the battlefield, men were slaughtered waiting for the reinforcements that never came. A giant ogre lifted the king, shaking him and finally slicing open his neck with a single savage blow. Enraged, Duncan used his sword and dagger to climb the ogre, sustaining a massive wound in his side before he managed to dig both blades so deeply into the creature that it collapsed. Near collapse himself, Duncan crawled to the body of his friend and king. He never saw the battleaxe that sent him into oblivion.

On the Tower, Una and Alistair knew none of this. All they knew was that once the beacon had been lit, a flood of darkspawn rushed out at them. Una saw Alistair fall under a pile of them, Grenli under another, and then nothing more as blackness closed over her.

When her eyes opened on a bright, sunny day, she was sure she was in the Fade. She started looking around for her parents. Instead, she saw the inside of a small rustic hut, and working on something at a wooden table was Morrigan.

Una sat up slowly, every muscle screaming. "Wh— Where am I?"

"Your eyes finally open," Morrigan said, not unkindly. "Mother shall be pleased."

"What happened?"

"Perhaps I should start at the beginning."

"That would be nice." Una put one hand to her head, feeling a bandage there. "I was on the top of the Tower of Ishal. Loghain? The battle?"

"The man who was to respond to your signal … quit the field," Morrigan said, choosing her words carefully. "All those he left on the battlefield were slaughtered."

Una stared at her. That must mean Fergus! Oh, Maker, she really was the last of the Couslands. And Duncan, and King Cailan … "The King?" she asked. Morrigan nodded. "Alistair?" she asked, almost afraid to hope.

"He is well. He has been most concerned for you."

"What about my dog?"

Morrigan's lip curled. "He has survived also. With a prodigious appetite, I might add."

Una breathed a great sigh of relief. With Fergus almost certainly dead, Grenli was the only family she had left. "How did we—" Una sat up. She put her hand to her head as a sudden pain stabbed through it. "How did we get here?"

"Mother rescued you."

"Why? I mean, um, that was very nice of her."

"I do not know that she will tell you that," Morrigan said, watching Una sharply.

"Hm." Una realized she was wearing only her smallclothes. "Morrigan? Do you know where my clothes and armor are?" Morrigan gestured to a chest in the corner. Una got up slowly, painfully, beginning to get dressed. Morrigan turned back to the table. Was she chopping vegetables? It seemed an odd thing for her to be doing. Una put a hand up to her head. Perhaps she was hallucinating?

At last Una buckled on the last piece of her armor, feeling more comfortable already. "Morrigan," she said again, waiting until the mage turned to her. "Thank you for everything."

Morrigan blinked, clearly unsure how to handle the thanks. "Mother did most of the work," she said stiffly. "But … you are welcome."

Una opened the door, stepping out into the daylight. It felt good to be on her feet again, and even better to feel Grenli's sleek head under her hand again. He'd rushed over to her as soon as she emerged, sniffing her hand in great concern. "I'm okay, boy." She went down on her knees, throwing her arms around the dog. "I think Fergus is gone, though. You and I are all that are left of the Couslands," she whispered to him, her voice trembling with unshed tears. Grenli licked her cheek, whining in shared sorrow. Una buried her face in the dog's shoulder for a long moment, then stood up, looking around for Alistair. He was standing by the marsh, staring off into the distance. Una could see the markings of tears on his handsome face.

Morrigan's mother stood there as well, but the older woman had turned to Alistair. "See?" she said to him. "Here is your fellow Grey Warden. You worry too much, young man."

His face went white when he saw Una, almost as though he was looking at a ghost. "You— You're alive. I … I thought you were dead for sure."

"I'm fine," she said. "I appreciate your concern." She lifted a hand to reach out to him, to take his hand, but he turned away from her, not seeing.

"Oh, this doesn't seem real," Alistair said. He was so glad to see that she was alive, but he still wished he wasn't—if only he'd been on the battlefield with all of them. Could he have saved Duncan? "If it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead on top of that Tower."

"Do not talk about me as if I were not present, lad," Morrigan's mother said, sounding almost amused.

"I'm sorry," Alistair said. "But what do we call you? You've never told us your name."

"Names are pretty, but useless." She thought for a moment. "The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."

Alistair's mouth dropped open. "The Flemeth? From the legends?" He shook his head, feeling as if he was in the midst of a nightmare. "Daveth was right! You're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?"

"And what does that mean?" Flemeth asked tartly. "I know a bit of magic. And it has served you both well, has it not?"

"Why did you save us?" Una asked. Alistair shot her a look. She supposed she sounded a bit blunt, but some questions needed to be asked.

"We can't have all the Grey Wardens dying at once, can we?" Flemeth said, chuckling. "Someone has to deal with these darkspawn." She looked at Una, her eyes challenging. "It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn't looking?"

"Of course not!" Una said.

"But we were fighting the darkspawn!" Alistair said. "The King had nearly defeated them. Why would Loghain do this?"

"Now that is a good question," Flemeth said. "Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature." Una thought, shuddering, of Arl Howe and the slaughter of her household. "Perhaps," Flemeth went on, "Loghain believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat."

"The Archdemon," Alistair said grimly.

"Will you help us fight this Blight, Flemeth?" Una thought how little she knew about … well, anything. How could they go about this alone?

"Me?" Flemeth asked in smooth surprise. It seemed feigned to Una. "I am just an old woman who lives in the Wilds. I know nothing of Blights and darkspawn."

"Whatever Loghain's insanity," Alistair said, "he obviously thinks the darkspawn are a minor threat. We must warn everyone this isn't the case." Without his realizing it, he'd been drawn a little way out of the blackness that was enveloping him.

"And who will believe you? Unless you think to convince this Loghain of his mistake," Flemeth said, sneering just a bit.

"He just betrayed his own king!" Alistair's ire was up now. "If Arl Eamon knew what he did at Ostagar, he would be the first to call for his execution."

Una remembered Arl Eamon as a kind man who always had sweets in his pockets for Teyrn Cousland's little daughter. "Perhaps we could go to him, then," she said.

"Arl Eamon wasn't at Ostagar," Alistair said slowly. "He still has all his men. And he was Cailan's uncle," he pointed out. Una nodded. She had forgotten about that. "I know him—he practically raised me," Alistair went on enthusiastically. "He's a good man, respected in the Landsmeet. Of course! We can go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!"

Una was relieved to see him display some enthusiasm. "That sounds like an excellent idea," she said, smiling at him.

"Such determination. How intriguing," Flemeth cooed. Una felt again as though the older woman could see right into her head. It was an unpleasant sensation.

"I still don't know if Arl Eamon's help would be enough," Alistair said. "We can't defeat the darkspawn horde by ourselves."

"We need the rest of the Grey Wardens," Una said.

"I don't know how to contact them. Or if they're even on their way! We need to do something now," Alistair said desperately.

"You have more at your disposal than you think," Flemeth interjected.

"Of course!" exclaimed Alistair. "The treaties! Grey Wardens can demand aid from dwarves, elves, mages, and other folk. They're obligated to help us during a Blight."

"I may be old, but dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon, and who knows who else … this sounds like an army to me," said Flemeth.

Alistair looked to Una. "So can we do this? Go to Redcliffe and these other places and … build an army?"

Una shrugged. "Why not? Isn't that what Grey Wardens do?" She thought, if she was with him, she might be able to move mountains.

"So you are set then?" Flemeth asked. "Ready to be Grey Wardens?"

"Yes. Thank you for everything, Flemeth," Una said.

"I do have one more thing to offer," Flemeth said. Una's heart sank. Here it comes, she thought. The payback for their lives.

Morrigan emerged from the hut. "The stew is bubbling, Mother dear. Shall we have two guests for the eve … or none?"

There was a twinkle in Flemeth's eye that Una didn't quite like. "The Grey Wardens will be leaving shortly, girl," she said. "And you will be joining them."

"Such a shame," Morrigan began. Then her head snapped around to look at her mother. "What?!"

"You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears." Flemeth gave a disturbing chuckle.

"Thank you, but if Morrigan doesn't want to join us …" Una's voice trailed off as Flemeth looked at her. It was obvious this was not a choice … for any of them.

"Have I no say in this?" Morrigan interjected.

"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years," the older woman told her daughter. "Here is your chance. As for you, Wardens," her gaze raked Una and Alistair, "consider this repayment for your lives."

"Very well, we'll take her with us," Una said, nodding graciously.

"Not to look a gift horse in the mouth," Alistair began, "but won't this add to our problems? Out of the Wilds, she's an apostate." Una remembered that he had trained as a Templar. He sounded like one suddenly.

"If you don't wish help from us illegal mages, young man," said Flemeth, her voice very smooth and very deadly, "perhaps I should have left you on that tower."

"Point taken." Alistair sighed.

"Mother, this is not how I wanted this! I'm not even ready!"

"You must be ready," Flemeth said, and for once Una could feel the older woman was speaking the bald truth. "Alone, these two must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight. Even I."

"I—understand," Morrigan said, unwillingly.

"And you, Wardens? Do you understand? I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you must succeed."

"I understand," Una said. Her level look at the older woman was a promise.

"Allow me to get my things, if you please," Morrigan said, her tone testy. If this attitude kept up, Una thought, it was going to be a long Blight. Morrigan emerged from the hut, a pack and a staff on her back. "I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens. I suggest a village north of the Wilds as our first destination. 'Tis not far, and you will find much you need there." An edge sharpened her voice as she went on. "Or, if you prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide. The choice is yours."

When it appeared Alistair had no response, Una said, "No, I prefer you speak your mind." Morrigan raised a disbelieving eyebrow, but something in her eyes seemed warmer suddenly.

Flemeth laughed. "You may live to regret that."

"Farewell, Mother," said Morrigan. "Do not forget the stew on the fire. I don't want to return to a burned-down hut."

"Bah! 'Tis far more likely you will return to see this entire area—along with my hut—swallowed up by the Blight."

"I— All I meant was—" Suddenly Morrigan the confident appeared like any other chastened daughter. Una remembered her own mother making her feel the same way.

"Yes, I know," Flemeth said. "Do try to have fun, dear."


	5. Lothering

With no further display of affection between mother and daughter they were off. Una, Alistair, and Grenli followed Morrigan. There was little talking. Morrigan made occasional comments that Una tried to respond to, but there was no reaching Alistair, who was lost in his grief and anger. At night, they set up tents—Una's and Alistair's together near one fire, and Morrigan's off to the side by herself. The mage explained to Una that she was used to being alone and preferred to retain some solitude. Una wasn't sure she cared, as long as the extra fire didn't cause them to attract darkspawn.

On the second day, they arrived in Lothering, and were immediately accosted by a group of brigands trying to soak them for money. Una grinned at the head brigand. "Do you really think you should be trying to steal from Grey Wardens?"

"Grey Wardens! You traitors killed the king, and there's a lovely nice big bounty on your heads." With an expression of great glee, the men attacked, while Una was still reeling from the surprising comment about the Grey Wardens.

They took out the brigands with ease. "What was that all about?" Alistair asked. Una was relieved he was showing any interest at all in what was going on around them.

"I assume we'll find out as we move farther into town." Una shrugged. "And there's no time like the present."

They walked toward Lothering, which was teeming with refugees from the darkspawn-infested Wilds. It was noisy, smelly, and filled with the sadness of people who had lost everything. Una's eyes welled with tears as she looked around.

"Ah, Lothering," Alistair said, with bitterness heavily underscoring his attempt at a breezy tone. "Pretty as a picture."

"So," trilled Morrigan, "you've decided to rejoin us, have you?"

"Is it so hard for you to understand grief?" he shot back. "Everyone I cared about is lying dead on that battlefield."

"And you moping about helps them how?"

"Enough," Una said, her fingers pressing into her temples. "We have more than we can handle already—I don't need the two of you to start sniping at each other." Both of them started to say something, but Una glared at them and they stopped. "What should we do now?"

Morrigan shrugged eloquently.

Alistair rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't know what we should do," he said. "There are plenty of places to go, but I don't know which one to go to first."

Una closed her eyes. He wasn't actually saying this, was he? "Are you saying you want me to decide? You know you're the senior Warden, right?" He stared at her mutely, and she could see the misery and the hint of pleading in his eyes. She sighed. "All right, then. I guess it's on me. Let's head into town and see what's what."

They walked through the camps full of refugees, and were told several times by Templars stationed around the camps that Lothering had no room for more people. Alistair and Morrigan continued their sniping at each other until Una was ready to leave them both behind. Maybe somewhere in the Anderfels she and Grenli could find a nice cave far from Blight and darkspawn and annoying companions.

Sighing, she led them into the Chantry, where they met a knight Alistair knew from his days at Redcliffe. The knight told them that Arl Eamon had been felled by some mysterious and thus far incurable illness and lay in a coma in Redcliffe Castle, while all his knights were spread around Ferelden hunting for the mythic Urn of Sacred Ashes, the container that was supposed to hold the ashes of the prophet Andraste and was also reputed to have magical healing powers. Further, he explained that Teyrn Loghain was claiming that the Grey Wardens were responsible for the tragedy of the Battle of Ostagar—that they had pushed Cailan into showing off for glory and going into battle when he wasn't ready. Loghain had put it about that he was the true hero of the day, that by withdrawing from the field he had saved his own army and thus Ferelden.

Alistair was devastated and enraged. To think that his companions—that Duncan—had died because of the Teyrn's betrayal and were now being blamed for the loss of the king! As they exited the Chantry, his emotions rose up, nearly choking him, and he started off toward Denerim, muttering to himself, "I'll kill him. I'll kill him. No, I'll torture him. Killing's too good."

Una wrapped her hands around his arm, digging her heels into the ground. "Alistair! Alistair! Snap out of it!"

Morrigan raised her staff, spoke a chant, and a block of ice encased him. "Are we sure we shouldn't let him go?" she asked. "He'd get himself killed, certainly, but isn't that better than getting us killed?" She could never have allowed that, of course, but it felt good to think about ridding herself of his irritating presence.

Glaring at her, Una said, "Of course not. What good would that do? Besides," she added more practically, "we need the extra sword arm."

"Could we not just hire another one?" Morrigan sighed.

Una shook her head, turning back to Alistair, who was starting to thaw. At least his ears were uncovered. "You can't go kill him now," she said, as though talking to a small child. "He won't get away with these lies in the end, but we have to bide our time. We know the truth. If we die now, no one else will ever know what really happened. Do you hear me?"

He blinked slowly, the light brown eyes clearing and focusing on her. "You swear it?" he asked.

"I swear it. Loghain will pay for his treachery and his lies."

Alistair nodded, taking a deep breath. "Let's see what else there is to find out in this town."

"There's a good Warden," Morrigan cooed.

"Morrigan," Una ground out between clenched teeth, "if you do not shut up, I will break your jaw."

"Please?" Alistair asked, his eyes brightening. "I'd pay to see that fight."

Both women shot him dirty looks and he subsided, but the image remained, and was strangely exciting.

On their way past the Chantry gates, Una stopped at the Chanters' board to see what jobs were available.

"We don't have time to stop for these things, do we?" Alistair asked doubtfully.

"No, we probably don't have time. But what we also don't have is money—you know, for little things like food and health poultices? So if we don't do some side work here and there, we'll all starve. Which wouldn't be that helpful, either. Besides, if we help people out in these little towns, maybe we'll start to rebuild the Grey Wardens' reputation in Ferelden and fewer people will believe Loghain's lies."

"A decent point," Alistair admitted. They took a couple of listings off the board and set off through town to see what else there was to find out.

In the tavern, they found a bit more than they had bargained for. A group of soldiers drinking at a table stood up as Una walked in through the door, and the leader's sword cleared its scabbard. "Well, now," he said. "What have we here?"

"I thought we had asked all over town about a woman of this description," said another soldier, his eyes raking Una up and down with an insolent leer. "And everyone said they hadn't seen her."

Una heard the scrape of steel behind her as Alistair drew his own sword. "What can we do for you?" she asked calmly, trying to stave off actual bloodshed if she could.

"We're here on order of Teyrn Loghain," said the soldier leader. "We're charged with bringing him any Grey Wardens we can find. Dead or alive." He laughed unpleasantly.

"Good luck with that," Una said. She pulled her own sword, watching the soldier's eyes widen as he took in the great size of the blade.

"Please, can't we settle this peacefully?" asked an Orlesian-accented voice. Both Una and the soldiers' leader looked around at the voice's owner. She was a pretty red-headed woman, dressed as a lay sister of the Chantry, but she was wearing a pair of daggers in crossed scabbards on her back.

"Sister, stay out of this," the leader said grimly, leveling his sword at Una. And then he attacked, and battle was joined. The sister drew her daggers and joined in, fighting the soldiers. It was a hard-fought battle, but most of the soldiers went down. The leader was on the ground, the tip of Una's blade digging into his neck, when the Chantry sister put a hand on Una's arm.

"You've won, don't you see? There's no need to kill them," she said, her eyes pleading with Una.

Una looked from the soldier to the sister and back again. Then she stepped back, sheathing her sword. "Take a message to Loghain," she said to the soldier.

"Anything!" he gasped, getting up from the floor with difficulty.

"Tell him the Grey Wardens know what really happened at Ostagar. And we're coming for him." The soldier nodded, nearly tripping over his own boots in his haste to get out of the tavern and Una's presence. Once he was gone, she turned her attention to the sister. "Thanks for your help."

"Let me introduce myself," said the sister. "I am Leliana. You will be fighting the darkspawn, yes? That is why I will be joining you."

"You'll be what?" Una blinked at the woman.

"Joining you." Leliana's blue eyes met Una's squarely. "I have many skills that will be useful to you."

"Such as?"

"Fighting, for one. I can also cook, sew, and sing, all things useful for keeping body and soul together while traveling." Leliana opened her blue eyes wide. "I am sure I can be an asset on your journeys. Please allow me to join you."

"We could use a decent cook," Una admitted. "Why are you so eager to come along?"

"The Maker told me to," Leliana said.

"You want to run that one by me again?"

"More crazy?" Alistair muttered. "I thought we were all full up."

Una heard Morrigan take a breath to say something, and held up her hand to forestall the mage's comments.

Leliana looked uncomfortable. "I had a dream," she explained. "A vision. I am meant to help the Grey Wardens stop the Blight."

Una studied the serious face of the woman in front of her. The blue eyes met hers frankly, and the sister certainly seemed sincere. And she had fought well. "We can use all the help we can get," Una said at last. "Welcome aboard, Leliana."

"Perhaps your skull was cracked worse than Mother thought," Morrigan said.


	6. Camp

A few days later, Una awoke in a tent on the edge of the Brecilian Forest. After getting dressed, she emerged into the camp, looking around for the others. Morrigan, as usual, was preparing her own breakfast at a separate fire. Grenli was gnawing at something outside Una's tent. "Everything okay, boy?" she asked as she went by him. He barked happily, waving his stumpy tail. There was no sign of Leliana, but Alistair was sitting speculatively by the coals, drinking what looked like coffee.

He didn't look up as Una came near the fire, and she watched him carefully, looking for some sign that he was recovering from the depression his grief had sent him into. The humor that had characterized her first experiences with him had yet to come back, and Una didn't know if there was any way to help it return.

"You don't have to stare," he said, without turning around. "I'm not about to do anything … drastic."

"Good to know." When he still didn't move, she added, "I'm concerned about you, you know."

At this he did look up at her. "You don't have to be." He found her concern somewhat oppressive. She was doing a fine job leading them—what did she need him for anyway?

"Let him sulk," Morrigan called from her own fire. "He's far less annoying when he's too depressed to speak."

"Morrigan, do you think that helps?" Una put a hand on Alistair's shoulder, keeping him from getting up to go after their companion. She looked down at him. "I'll say this for her, though. She's the only person who seems to be able to get a reaction out of you." He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. He didn't like that idea, at all, that Morrigan could reach something in him that was still alive, any more than Una liked the idea that she herself couldn't.

At this juncture, Leliana emerged from the trees, squeezing water out of her short red hair with a towel. "The water is very refreshing this morning. Quite bracing." She shivered a bit.

"I'll take your word for it," Una chuckled. "Is there any more of that coffee?" she asked Alistair.

"If you can call it that," he said. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a cook."

"Me, neither," Una said. "Spoiled daughter of a noble and all that." She took the cup he handed her. After taking a sip, she grimaced. "But I think even I could make better coffee than that."

"He toils not, neither does he spin," Morrigan commented. "What are we dragging the great whiny lummox along for, anyway?"

This time Una missed the shoulder. Alistair leaped to his feet and she had to grab him by the arm to prevent him from attacking Morrigan. "All right!" she said. "We are not going to be fighting amongst ourselves. We have enough problems without that, and so does Ferelden. Morrigan, lay off. The man has a right to his grief. Alistair, there is no attacking other party members, no matter how provoking they are. And if you can try to pull yourself together a bit, we would all appreciate it." Her tone softened, and she looked him directly in the eyes. "We've all lost people we care about. But we have a responsibility to those people to continue fighting for the things they died for. If we give up under the weight of our grief, it will all have been for nothing."

They were good strong words, and they made sense, Alistair thought. Then another part of his mind said nastily, _She never met the other Grey Wardens and barely knew Duncan. What does she know?_ and he snapped, "You almost sound like you know what you're talking about."

Una stopped her fist an inch before it smashed into his chin. Alistair blinked and took a couple of steps backwards. "That— That was fast."

"I'm sorry," she said, pulling herself together with an effort. She unclenched her fist. "Apparently you don't know."

He shook his head. "Know what?"

"The reason I was at Ostagar, the reason my parents agreed to allow Duncan to recruit me into the Grey Wardens in the first place." Her gaze shifted to the trees, but in her mind's eye she could see the fire flickering along the walls of Highever Castle as it burned. "Arl Howe waited until my brother Fergus had taken all our men with him to Ostagar, then he attacked Highever Castle. My sister-in-law and my little nephew were slaughtered in their bedrooms. And when I escaped with Duncan, my father was dying and my mother had pledged to protect him as long as there was breath in her body. I had to leave them there to be killed, and their bodies are rotting in the ruins, unburied. Unavenged. And my brother? Probably dead, too. I may never know for sure." She looked at Alistair again, her dry eyes and raw voice underscoring the horrors she was describing. "So, yes. I almost sound like I know what I'm talking about." He had the grace to blush. The two of them were close enough to the same height that she was able to stand nose to nose with him. "Now, we have a lot to do, and it'll go better and faster if we're as close to full strength as we can be. Get your head together, and do it fast." She brushed past him without waiting for a reply and stalked off into the trees toward the bracing stream Leliana had mentioned.

When she returned, the camp had been packed and everyone was ready to go. They all avoided looking at her. "Right," Una said. "So we're all good now?" There were nods. "Excellent. Let's go find us some Dalish."

But they didn't find the Dalish that day. Una called a halt early in the afternoon to give them all a chance to regroup a bit. Alistair had been more his old self, joking a bit and seeming more interested in the plans she was making to collect their allies, which had brought home to her all the more clearly how much she felt for him. She hated to see him in such pain, and instead of nearly punching him out and screaming in his face would so much rather have put her arms around him and held him.

Una viciously pounded the last tent stake into the ground and wished she felt comfortable enough with either of the other two women to talk to them about this. She wished even harder for her mother's wise counsel. Suddenly an idea came to her—a crazy and possibly blasphemous idea, but it resonated within her.

While they were in Lothering they had collected some blank vellum. She dug through her pack until she found it, then ducked into her tent and began to write.

_Dear Mother and Father,_  
I love and miss you both so much. The world seems like such a different place than it was the night I left you. I find myself in the surprising position of needing to unite the armies of Ferelden, stop a Blight, and end a civil war, with only a few companions to help me. I wish you were both here to help me figure out what to do. I feel so lost and alone. And I haven't been able to find Fergus, either, Father, but I swear I will not stop looking until I do. I swear to you both, I will not let you down, or Ferelden. If it can be done, I will end this Blight.  
You might expect that I am writing you right now for your help in the affairs of the nation. But instead, it's something closer to my heart. It is my heart. You see, I am one of two surviving Grey Wardens in Ferelden. And I think I am in love with the other one. He is everything I always told you I wanted, Mother. Funny like Father and Fergus, and a good warrior and a man of strong heart like them, too. But also tender and sweet. And every time he looks at me (close your ears, Father), I want to just melt into the floor. He has been devastated by the loss of the rest of the Wardens, and there's so much going on that it has been impossible … even for your impulsive Pup … to focus on my own desires. I know I shouldn't be thinking of these things, not in this extremity, but I can't seem to stop myself. He doesn't even seem to notice that I'm female, much less share my feelings. But I can't keep pretending I don't feel anything forever, and I don't know what to do. I know you're probably thinking I should just focus on what's going on in the world, but I can't. Mother, please tell me what to do. I can't ruin this—he's everything I've ever wanted. (And if there's no room for true love in the world, what am I saving it for?)  
Yours always,  
Pup 

Una finished the letter and carried it with her as she left the tent. She took a quick survey of the camp. Grenli was sleeping outside her tent. He shifted, opening one eye and whining questioningly. "It's okay, Gren. You can sleep." He grunted, reassured, and the eye closed again. Morrigan appeared to be meditating, and Leliana was sorting through some herbs and other vegetation.

"What are those?"

"I picked them in the woods. I'm thinking of making something special for dinner."

"That's right, you said you can cook." Leliana raised her eyebrows at Una's doubtful tone, and Una rushed to clarify. "I mean, clearly Morrigan's not going to be cooking for all of us, and neither Alistair nor I knows the first thing about it. I'm delighted you can cook."

"I have many talents that you haven't seen yet," Leliana said.

"Glad to hear it," Una said, smiling at her companion. "I look forward to them." Leliana's eyebrow shot up. "I mean, um … Yeah, I'm going to go er …" She inclined her head toward the trees.

Una moved off in the direction of the stream she could hear babbling in the distance. Reaching the edge of the stream, she knelt and twisted the letter she'd written into a boat. It had been a while since she'd done it, but after a moment her fingers remembered the right folds. She struck a match on a rock and held it to the boat. When it had caught, she set the flaming boat adrift on the stream and watched as it floated away, burning to cinders as it went. She composed her mind, thinking, _Please, Mother, hear me._

Then a sudden commotion in the trees broke her reverie. Looking up, she saw Alistair come crashing through. He stopped short, staring at her. There it was, she thought. The "oh, she has two heads" look she'd been dreading. Men always looked at her that way eventually.

Alistair thought she looked incredibly young and vulnerable sitting there, watching the paper boat float away. He couldn't imagine what it must feel like to have been through what she had, and the memory of what he'd said to her that morning made his cheeks burn. "I, um, smelled smoke. I thought the forest was on fire." He studied her for a moment. "Aren't you a little old to be playing with toy boats?"

She smiled, watching the remnants of the boat as it crumbled into the water far down the stream. "Maybe."

"Are you all right?"

Una did her best not to blush under his gaze. "I'm all right. I was—" she paused, trying to decide if she should tell him what she was doing, then decided he might as well know her weirdnesses. He was going to have to eventually if he were ever going to fall in love with her. And she desperately wanted someone to talk to. "You're going to think this is strange."

"What's normal?" He grinned, shrugging.

She smiled back. "Nothing anymore. I was writing to my parents. I … I miss them so much. I miss my father's love and humor and my mother's wisdom and advice. Even her scoldings, sometimes."

"What did you get scolded about?" He was looking directly at her now, seeming to see her for the first time since Ostagar. It was the most interest he had shown, and she was glad to see it.

"Mostly about not being a lady. I've always been awkward and gangly and too heedless and impulsive."

"Clearly you've never seen yourself swing a sword. There's nothing awkward about you in battle—quite the contrary. Even though that greatsword you're using is longer than you are tall," Alistair said. He leaned back against a tree, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Una was hard pressed not to stare at the picture he made. "I thought, when you picked it up, 'Oh, she can't possibly fight with that,' but you are—formidable. To say the least. And your reflexes … I wasn't sure which was more impressive this morning. How close you came to hitting me before I even noticed you swinging, or how quickly you stopped yourself." After a moment, he said more softly, "Or how you were able to put me completely to shame in a few short minutes."

"No shame, Alistair. I've had more time to deal with these things than you have." She shrugged. "Greater perspective with distance, I think. But thank you," she added, smiling up at him again. She couldn't help it—the idea that he'd been watching her filled her with warmth. "The greatsword is a bit ridiculous, but it feels right." She hoped the deepening twilight hid her blush. The greatsword wasn't the only thing that felt right. Being with him—especially with him actually there and not somewhere in a haze of grief—was the closest she'd come to feeling like home in such a long time. "Anyway, I wanted to talk to my parents. And to do something to feel like they heard me. You know? Maybe the Chantry would disapprove of the idea that burning my letter would help them hear me. Almost certainly it would disapprove of the idea that I think they might answer me. But without them …"

"You'd be alone," he finished, with great pain in his voice. If it weren't for her, he thought, he would be completely alone. Everything he'd known before Ostagar was either gone or being threatened.

"I'm sorry, Alistair."

"I know." He swallowed, fighting the sadness. "I think anything that allows you to hold on to the people you love is right—outside of blood magic or whatever Morrigan does—and it doesn't matter what the Chantry thinks. They aren't here, are they?" She had a flash of great relief—she'd told him one of her innermost thoughts, and he'd taken it and accepted it and still seemed to like her.

"Alistair?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"If you don't mind my asking … where is your family?"

He took a deep breath. Somehow he was never prepared to answer that question, even though he knew he should have expected it. "The Grey Wardens were my family," he said. "I was raised by Arl Eamon. You see, my mother was a serving girl at the castle who died when I was born, and I'm … a bastard. Not Arl Eamon's, if that's what you're thinking," he added hastily.

"So you grew up in Redcliffe Castle?" She'd been there once, she remembered, a long time ago, but she didn't remember the Arl having a child around the place.

"Not really," he said. "I slept in the stables, mostly. Helped in the kitchen. Until Arl Eamon got married, and the Arlessa resented the rumors that pegged me as his bastard. Arl Eamon didn't care, but she did. So when I was ten I was packed off to the Chantry to become a Templar, and there I stayed until Duncan rescued me."

"That doesn't sound very nice of her."

Alistair shrugged. "She was threatened by me."

"Still," Una said. "So you don't know who your father was?"

Uncomfortably, Alistair hedged, "I know that he's dead."

"And your mother didn't have any family?"

"I never learned much about my mother. The only thing I ever had of hers was an amulet—Andraste's holy symbol. When Arl Eamon told me he was sending me away to the Chantry, I hurled it against the wall and it shattered." He swallowed. "It was a stupid, stupid thing to do, and not a day has gone by since that I didn't regret it."

"You were a child," she said. "It's understandable."

"Yes, and I acted like it." He took a deep breath. "I found out later, after I'd left the Chantry, that my mother had a daughter, a girl named Goldanna, who was several years older than me."

"So you have a sister? That's wonderful!" Una said. "Have you been in contact with her? Do you know where she is?"

"I know she lives in Denerim, but I haven't had the courage to get in touch with her. Could we … if we're in Denerim, do you suppose we could look her up? I'd hate to miss the chance."

"Of course!" Una said. She thought of Fergus then, and she put her hand up to her face, feeling the sting of threatened tears.

"I'm sorry," Alistair said. "I've been interrupting as you're trying to talk to your family. Thanks for listening," he said.

"Anytime," she answered.

"I'll leave you alone, then. And Una?"

She hoped he didn't notice the tremor that shook her at the sound of his voice saying her name. "Yes?"

"I hope they hear you. And I hope you hear them."

"Thank you," she said. She listened to his progress through the trees, and when he was gone, listened for the voices of her parents. At last she heard them, faintly, as if from a long way off.

_Ah, Pup_ , came her father's tones. _I knew you'd make your mark on the world. As for the boy, he's clearly not good enough for you … as none of them ever were. But that's your mother's area. You make me proud, my girl._

Una could almost feel his arm around her shoulders and took strength from his love.

_Una, my dear._ Her mother's voice was a mixture of amusement, pride, and exasperation. _I always knew it would be the most awkward time and place possible. You can never do anything easily, can you? You go through your life with such enthusiasm and so little heed for the consequences._ Una heard a deep sigh. _As for your young man … slowly, my girl. If he's what you really want—and you've always been very good at knowing exactly what you want, so I'll trust that you know what you're doing—let him lead. He'll be more confident, you'll know that he's sure you're what he wants, and you'll have a stronger bond if you proceed more slowly._

The voices faded, leaving Una still sitting there, her face wet. "Thank you, Mother," she breathed. Una stood up, her legs stiff and cramped from so long in one position. She made her way back through the trees, following her nose to the camp, whence came the heavenly smell of whatever it was Leliana had made.

Alistair looked up as she came into the camp, noticing the tracks of tears on her face. "Una, you have to taste this. Leliana's a culinary genius!"

She grinned back at him, glad to hear the enthusiasm in his voice. "And a good thing, too," she said. "I was afraid we'd be stuck with raw twigs."

"Better than our cooking, don't you think?"

"Infinitely," put in Leliana.

As she sat down, taking the plate Leliana proffered, Alistair leaned over and asked quietly, "Did you hear anything?"

Una's wide mouth curved in a smile that lit her whole face. Alistair found it captivating. He wanted to try and make her smile like that again sometime. "I did," she said.

"What you wanted to hear?"

"Not entirely," she said. "They're parents, after all. But what I needed to hear."

"Good." They both returned to their plates, eating in companionable silence.


	7. Forest

They found the Dalish the following day, and after a lot of running around in the Forest, were eventually able to resolve a curse, cure the Dalish hunters who had been bitten by werewolves, and gain the promise of the new Dalish Keeper, Lanaya, that the Dalish would be ready when the Grey Wardens needed them. It was more complicated than Una had hoped it would be, but they had accomplished their first objective.

The next few days, marching toward Redcliffe, were relatively peaceful, and the whole party felt somewhat healed by the time they camped outside the town. It had been nice just traveling and talking and beginning to get to know one another. They sat around the fire that night, eating something Leliana had whipped up with berries in it.

"I don't know what we're eating, Leliana," Una said, "but is there any more?"

"Sorry," Leliana said, "but, uh, Grenli, is it? He seems to have enjoyed more than his fair portion."

"Gren!" Una looked at him sternly. The mabari burped and looked abashed, but when he caught Alistair's eye he grinned and wagged his tail happily.

"Don't drag me into this, hound! I wanted seconds, too." Grenli licked Alistair's cheek and grinned unrepentantly.

Alistair, rubbing at the slobber on his cheek, looked at Una. "Your dog needs some discipline," he said sternly.

"I've heard that before." She reached out to ruffle the dog's ears before getting up to collect the plates. Morrigan, who continued to camp separately, was staring morosely into her fire, and Leliana was quietly tuning her lyre near her tent. Alistair reached up to hand Una his plate and their fingers brushed in the handoff.

Una caught her breath. The firelight shone on his strong features and caught the highlights in his blond hair. Before she could stop herself, Una heard herself blurting out, "Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?" Then she froze. Oh, Mother, what did I say that for? she thought.

Alistair's eyebrows shot up. He said something about those two 'girls' from Denerim that one time … and then it hit him. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? The brown eyes studied her speculatively. "Wait. Does that mean you think I'm handsome?"

Una blushed. "What if I do?" she muttered, turning her head away.

He chuckled, and she felt the timbers of his voice reach straight down into the pit of her stomach. She bit her lip. "I think I'd grin a lot and look foolish," he said. "Which wouldn't be all bad."

Their eyes met, hers filled with relief and a sudden hope, his thoughtful but wary. She clutched the plates. "I think I'll go wash these," she said, withdrawing hastily. Rolling her eyes upward as she wound her way between trees, she said, "Well, Mother, that wasn't too disastrous." She could see her mother's shake of the head and hear the tongue-click. "I know. Curb the impulsiveness. I'm working on it."

"Do you always speak to your mother as though she could hear you?" Morrigan asked casually from the darkness of the trees.

"Who's to say she can't?" Una countered.

"I suppose your Chantry would be the first."

"The Chantry doesn't know the answers any more than anyone else. I know, that would sound like blasphemy to many, but … if it helps me to think that my parents are close to me, does it matter if they are or not?"

"A bit indulgent," Morrigan mused, "but not entirely impractical. If Alistair had your philosophy we would all have had to listen to much less whining."

"Morrigan, will you please leave him alone?"

"I cannot help it if he is oversensitive!"

"You can help baiting him all the time." Una knelt by the stream and began dipping the plates in. "Or the two of you could just go at it and get it over with." She hated to admit it, but it stung that Morrigan could always get a reaction out of him.

"I do not think that is what you really want. Is it?" Morrigan's smug tone grated on Una's ears. She had a sudden appreciation for why the mage irritated Alistair so.

"I want," she said sharply, "not to have to stand between the two of you and keep you from killing each other."

"Understandable." Morrigan melted back into the trees. Left alone, Una continued ineffectually swishing plates in the water, staring off into the distance.

Alistair watched Una disappear into the trees in her awkward lope.

"Does she know that it's pitch-dark?" Leliana asked in concern.

"Presumably she does," Alistair remarked absently, moving his gaze to the rose he had removed from his pack. He'd looked at it every night since they'd left Lothering, its strangely undimmed beauty soothing him and helping him remember what they were fighting for.

Leliana withdrew to her tent, leaving Alistair still sitting there, completely confused by what had happened with Una. He had never given that much thought to women—oh, who was he kidding? He thought about women all the time, especially now that he was traveling with three of them. All extraordinary in their own way, even the one who was the embodiment of all evil. But it had never occurred to Alistair that a woman might think about him. Not until just now.

"Handsome"? Him? But maybe he'd misunderstood. Maybe that was some kind of noble thing, compliments as a way to raise morale? Well, they'd be heading into Redcliffe tomorrow, he could see then— He raised his head suddenly. Redcliffe! "Maker's blood!" he swore. He got up, putting the rose away carefully before heading off into the trees in the direction Una had gone.

Hearing the crashing behind her, Una quickly finished stacking the plates. Alistair clearly hadn't grown up sneaking up on people in the woods, that much was clear, she reflected. She grinned a little, thinking how often she'd caught Fergus with the elven serving maids. "Yes, Alistair?"

"How did you know it was me?"

"No one else crashes through the forest like a great bear."

"Except, you know … a bear."

She chuckled. "I think the bear would have been slightly quieter."

"Hey!"

"We should have had the elves teach you some woods lore," Una mused. "Was there something you wanted to talk about?"

"Er, yes."

Una tried not to hope that it would be something she wanted to hear. "Spill it, then." And that's when he told her that he was the illegitimate son of the king. After he'd finished explaining, he stood awkwardly for a few moments, clearly unsure what to say. He wished there was more light so he could see her expression, but then thought that if his revelation had changed anything, maybe he didn't want to know. He ducked his head and disappeared back toward the camp. "Isn't this an interesting turn of events," Una muttered. "What do you think, Father?" she asked of the sky. But the stars were silent. "Still processing, huh? Yeah, me, too. Not at all what I expected." She picked up the plates and carried them back to camp.

The next morning, Una insisted that Alistair tell the other two women about his parentage as well. She noted, watching them, that Morrigan didn't seem entirely surprised. Una filed that information away to be considered later.

As they were trudging toward Redcliffe, Una drew Alistair into conversation about his templar training. It took some pushing, as always, to get past his armor of jokes, but once she did, she got to the thoughtful bit right in the middle that was the hardest part of him to find. He covered it so thoroughly, but she liked to study it when it came out, watching and listening carefully. She did the same with the others, prodding and testing to find out what was there. It helped, in battle and decision-making, to know exactly who was behind her. In this case, Alistair wandered off-topic a bit, talking about how being with the Grey Wardens had been the first sensation of being home he'd ever felt. She was processing his thoughts so intently that she almost missed it when he turned the tables on her. "What?" she asked.

He stopped, the dark eyes serious for once as they held hers. "I said, is there anyplace you call home?"

She took a deep breath. Alistair almost felt guilty for asking the question as he saw the flash of pain in her tilted cat's eyes before she closed them. In that moment, Una said good-bye for the last time to her life at Highever Castle, and when her eyes opened they held—what? Alistair thought. Resignation, determination, maybe hope. "I guess," she said, "my home is with the Grey Wardens now." Her eyes met his, and he felt a jolt of electricity that startled him. "With you," she added hesitantly.

No mistaking it, he thought, that was a blush on her cheeks, not just a trick of the sunlight. Maybe she really was thinking about him. He was unaware that he was blushing, too. "I— I think I like the sound of that," he offered. They stared at each other for a moment, then looked quickly away as Leliana came up over the hill behind them.


	8. Redcliffe

As they approached Redcliffe Village, a man wide-eyed with panic met them, trying to turn them away from the village. "Don't you know what's happening here?"

"No, I'm afraid we don't. What is happening?" Una asked cautiously. She heard Alistair's intake of breath behind her, and knew he was wondering if the bad news was about Arl Eamon.

Introducing himself as Tomas, the man hastily explained that walking skeletons were coming from the castle every night, and had decimated the village. He offered to take them to Bann Teagan, whom Una remembered as Arl Eamon's younger brother. She knew her mother had once speculated on a match with Teagan, but didn't think anything had come of it. Maker, she hoped not. That would be awkward.

As Tomas led them into the Chantry, she saw Teagan waiting. He was squinting at them as they came up. It was obvious that he was trying to place her and couldn't quite manage. She clasped her right arm across her chest, bowing to him. "Bann Teagan. A pleasure to see you again."

He shook his head slightly. "I'm sorry, you look familiar, but I can't remember your name."

"Una Cousland, ser." She watched the recognition dawn, wondering if she truly looked that different from the last time he'd seen her.

Teagan was stunned. Not only had he heard that the whole Cousland family had been killed in the fire at Highever Castle, he would never have recognized this confident warrior as the shy, gawky girl he'd seen at the occasional social event. If he'd ever seen her like this before, he reflected, his answer to Teyrn Bryce's careful probings about a match between them might have been different. He bowed. "My lady. My deepest sympathies on the loss of your family. What a tragic accident."

Rage flashed in Una's eyes, but she held her control. "It was no accident, ser. Arl Howe's men attacked our castle after my brother Fergus had taken most of our men to Ostagar. They murdered my sister-in-law and my nephew, as well as my parents and all our household." Though her voice was even, the edge in it was obvious for all to hear.

Shocked, Teagan fumbled for words. "That is not what we had been told."

"Unsurprising," Una said, "since the only survivor is now being hunted as a traitor due to another lord's false words."

"Not all of us believe Loghain's charges," Teagan said. "My nephew was not the heedless puppy he is being painted as by these slanderous rumors."

"I am glad to hear you say that, my lord," Alistair spoke up.

"Holy Maker," Teagan said. "Alistair? Is that you? You're alive?"

"For now," Alistair said grimly.

Teagan shook his head. "This is much to contemplate. And there is little time to do so."

"Please, ser," Una said. "Tell us what has been happening here."

The Bann explained that no one had heard anything from the castle in days, that the Arl and his family may or may not still be alive, and that the walking corpses were coming in increasing numbers every night. Few in the village expected to survive the coming darkness. Alistair wanted to assure Teagan of their help, but he wasn't sure what Una would do. Holding his breath, he waited for her to speak.

"Of course, Bann Teagan. Our blades are yours," he heard her say. "What troops have we at our disposal?" The Bann laid out the situation for her—militia under the mayor, Murdock, and a few knights under the command of Ser Perth. "All right," Una said. "Let's get started, then."

The group of them moved through the village, adding a dwarven mercenary and his men to their arsenal; talking a drunken, grieving blacksmith into reopening his forge for the men's weapons and armor in exchange for finding his daughter once they were inside the castle; and discovering a cache of oil barrels in the general store. Una noted those for future reference. Set on fire, they could be a powerful weapon against the corpses. In the village inn, they found an elf archer who had been detailed by Teyrn Loghain to watch the castle, keeping Loghain informed of Eamon's condition. It was their first inkling that Arl Eamon's illness might have been engineered by the Teyrn, and Una was stunned. Why was the Hero of River Dane attacking his own country, taking it down from the inside?

The group made their way up the hill and found Ser Perth, current head of the knights of Redcliffe, waiting for them near the windmill.

Alistair remembered Perth from their childhood. A nice boy, yes, but smooth. Always able to convince the grown-ups of his blasted sincerity and innocence. What Alistair hadn't expected was for Perth to turn out to be so tall. He had at least 4 inches on Alistair, who wasn't short by any standard. More importantly, thought Alistair, watching as Perth turned his charm on Una, Perth had a good 4 inches on Una. Three and a half, whispered his brain. Alistair hated to admit it, but she was actually a bit taller than he was. Watching her with Perth—so serious, both of them, but Alistair could see the warmth in the knight's eyes—Alistair reflected that he'd never found tall women particularly attractive. Smaller, more feminine women like Leliana usually caught his attention. But there was something different about Una, something that drew the eye. And it made him feel slightly at a disadvantage to be even half an inch shorter than she was. Especially when Perth—damn the man—with his red hair and soft eyes was looking down at her. Didn't women always like taller men? Oh, snap out of it, Alistair! He forced himself back to the conversation at hand.

Una found Perth all too much like all the knights and nobles' sons she'd been pushed toward her whole life. Too smooth, too glib, too practiced. Alistair might hide behind a wall of jokes, but the rough edges always showed. She was aware of Alistair watching her, and she worried about their earlier exchange. Had she said too much? Had there been too much of her heart in her eyes? Was he disturbed, disgusted by her interest in him?

All too soon there was no more time for worrying about who felt what. They were fighting for their lives against the endless stream of walking corpses coming from the castle and then from the lake. When the fighting was finally done, the last corpse screaming as Una's blade sliced through its midsection, it was so late that setting up any kind of camp was impossible to consider. Once some of the cleanup had been accomplished, they slid down the wall of the Chantry, leaning against it. Neither of them even had the energy to take off their armor. Morrigan had gone to ground somewhere, Grenli was already asleep, and Leliana's eyes were drooping as she tucked her pack under her head. Una rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes.

When she opened her them again, it was full daylight, and someone was shaking her. "Una," Leliana whispered. "I think they want to have some kind of ceremony."

"Oh? They do?" She started to sit up and then was pulled back down when she discovered her hair was stuck to something. Pulling it free with some difficulty, she discovered it had been stuck to a patch of blood on Alistair's shoulder, which she had apparently slept on. She wasn't sure if she was more embarrassed by the sleeping or nauseated by the blood still matted in her hair. She pushed at his arm. "Alistair!"

"Huh? More cheese," he muttered. His eyes opened and he started to smile sleepily when he saw her face. Then he saw Leliana, and then the rest of the chaos. The smile disappeared as he sat up and became aware of his surroundings. He groaned. "Sleeping in armor not such a good idea as it seemed last night."

Una's heart had speeded up dangerously at the sight of that beautiful, trusting smile, and it was only just beginning to slow. She stood up, groaning a bit herself as stiff muscles stretched, and put her hand out to help him up.

"Ah, Wardens!" Bann Teagan looked as fresh as ever. Certainly more fresh than Una felt. "I'm sorry I couldn't have offered you more suitable accommodations for the night. The next time we'll have to do somewhat better."

"Not to worry, ser. I'm just glad to see we're all in one piece." She was having some pretty intense thoughts about taking a bath, though, as they all stood up in front of the surviving townspeople while Teagan formally thanked them for their help in the night. When the brief ceremony of thanks and memorialization of the battle's dead was over, Teagan asked them to meet him by the windmill in ten minutes after he'd given some orders regarding the cleanup of the battle sites. Una and Leliana immediately made a dash for the lakeshore. It was impractical to take off the armor, but they did manage to get all the blood and gore rinsed out of their hair and their faces washed. It was an improvement, at least. Heading back through the village, they ran into Alistair, who was shoving the last of a meat pie into his mouth. He held a sack that was emitting some truly amazing odors.

Leliana held up a wet cloth. "Trade you?"

"Please," he said, reaching eagerly for the cloth. Alistair's obsession with his hair was one of the few things all three of the women found amusing. He rubbed the cloth vigorously over his face and hair, handing Leliana the sack. Leliana gave a pie to Una and took one herself.

Gulping down the food, they made their way up the hill. Bann Teagan stood near the windmill.

"My lady," he said gallantly as Una approached him. "A great improvement, if I may say so."

Alistair frowned around the last bite of his second pie. Did everyone have to flirt with her?

Una crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at the Bann. "You wanted to discuss tactics regarding getting into the castle?" The Bann, recognizing a rebuff when he heard one, started explaining about the secret entrance through the windmill.

They were deep in the discussion when suddenly Bann Teagan looked over Una's shoulder in shock. She turned to see a noble lady running down the hill from the castle. The Arlessa Isolde, for so the lady turned out to be, was clearly in the throes of deep distress. She begged Teagan to return to the castle with her. Una could sympathize with the woman's fear, but she bristled at the nasty look Isolde shot Alistair as soon as the Arlessa realized who he was. Alistair appeared to take it in stride, but Una conceived an instant dislike of the Arlessa.

Teagan went back to the castle with Isolde as she had requested. Una and her crew took a secret entrance through the windmill.

It was a struggle to get into the castle—more walking dead to battle their way through—but they finally made it, only to discover that the Arl's son Connor, in his innocent newly awakened magic powers, had made a deal with a demon of the Fade and brought all these corpses to life. When she'd seen signs of magic in the boy, the Arlessa had hired an apostate who turned out to be a blood mage to tutor him, in her desperate need to keep her son from being taken away from her to the Circle Tower. The blood mage had been paid by Loghain to poison the Arl. Now the Arl lay at death's door, kept alive in large part by the demon who had possession of Connor.

Una had never felt more alone in her life than she did in the moment when she stood in the midst of them, all of them looking at her to decide what to do. Alistair, the Arlessa, the mage, Bann Teagan, the whole party. Kill the little boy? Allow the mother to sacrifice her life for her son in a blood ritual? She looked upward, hoping for guidance from her parents, but her ears were filled with the screams of the dying at Highever Castle, and she saw only her nephew and sister-in-law's bodies lying in their own blood. She put her hands over her ears to stop the sounds.

"Una?" She felt a light touch on her shoulder, and fought the urge to throw herself into Alistair's arms and have a good cry.

Straightening, she took her hands off her ears and swiped at an errant tear. "No," she said decisively. "There will be no blood magic. And there will be NO killing a child. Jowan," she addressed the mage, "you say the mages of the Circle can do this with lyrium, and no one's life need be lost?" He nodded. "That's it, then. We have a treaty for the Tower mages, so we would have to go there eventually. We'll go now, we'll leave at first light, and we'll be back in time to save the boy."

"But it's so far away!" Isolde looked frantic. "What happens if … if we can't control him until you get back?"

"You know what happens, Arlessa Isolde. But between you and Bann Teagan and the mage, you should be able to manage for a few days. We'll be back as soon as possible. Bann Teagan, do you think you can do this?" He nodded. "All right." Una looked at the Arlessa. "We will do everything we can to save your son, my lady." The Arlessa, eyes wide and nearly hysterical, buried her face in her hands and started to sob.

"We'll be fine," Teagan assured Una. "She's just exhausted. What she must have endured here in the castle is … unimaginable." He put his arm around his sister-in-law's shoulders.

Una led her team from the castle. They'd stay in the village overnight and leave first thing in the morning.


	9. Feast

The innkeeper offered them free rooms for the night. Una called first dibs on the bathtub in the room she and Leliana would be sharing. After a soak in a hot tub, she felt remarkably refreshed. She put on a simple wool dress, left the tub refilled with clean water for Leliana, and went downstairs to the main room of the inn to hunt for some dinner.

The long table was filled with people feasting, celebrating the defeat of the walking corpses. Alistair had done everything he could to hold open a space next to him, hoping Una would feel up to coming downstairs. The scene in the castle still haunted him, seeing her crouch with her hands over her ears, in such obvious distress. He'd never seen her give way like that before. The strength of the urge he felt to take her in his arms and hold her until she felt better had been … unexpected. One more moment and he would have done so, sticky bloody armor and all.

Suddenly he saw her on the stairs, and his mouth fell open. He'd never seen her in a dress before, and, come to think of it, had never seen her after a proper bath. She looked … beautiful. And tall. And surprisingly shy and ill at ease.

He called her name, waving his mug in the air. At the sight of him, her generous mouth curved in that transforming smile, and a bolt of lightning shot through him, taking him completely by surprise.

Una felt it, too. She'd never seen him in real clothes—just undergear, which tended to be sweaty by the end of the day and not in great condition to begin with. The white shirt he wore now set off his tanned skin. He had taken his usual pains with his hair and his shave, and as she got closer she could smell some kind of spicy scent. Cologne, too? She was torn between simply fainting at the sensual overload and a certain amount of bitterness that he cleaned up better than she did. Every woman in the room seemed better put together than she was. She should have asked Leliana to help her get ready, she thought. Una took the spot next to Alistair and accepted the mug of ale he handed her with a murmur of thanks.

Alistair would have been surprised if he'd known she was feeling inadequate. He thought she looked lovely in the simple dress, not overdone like so many of the other women, and the faint scent of lavender that hung around her, probably from the soap, was enticing, making him want to lean in closer to smell more of it. As she sat down and her thigh brushed his, he felt an immediate physical response that stunned him.

They didn't speak for the rest of the meal. Everything Una wanted to say was … untimely at best. And Alistair was lost in a world of unfamiliar sensation, overwhelmed by the sight and the smell and the feel of her next to him. What few thoughts he had were confused jumbles, his feelings and his background sparring each other, until all his thoughts were distilled down to the single question: was it really all right to be thinking of her this way?

The tension was dispelled somewhat when Leliana came down, looking fresh and lovely. She squeezed innocently between the two of them and kept up a lively chatter that both Una and Alistair were grateful for.

As everyone at the table finished their meal, the gathering grew more boisterous. A few villagers brought out musical instruments, and shortly thereafter the floor was cleared and folks began dancing. Leliana grabbed Alistair's hand and pulled him out onto the dance floor.

Una had flushed bright red as soon as she'd seen what was coming. Dancing was her least favorite thing. She couldn't do it. She had no rhythm, stumbled all over her own feet and those of her partner, and generally made a complete fool out of herself. Years' worth of relentless training had not helped the situation at all. She contemplated just ducking out. And then she caught sight of Alistair and Leliana. Leliana, of course, danced beautifully. Una found herself intrigued to hear more about Leliana's past, wondering exactly where she had come by all her skills. But the real surprise was Alistair. Una would have expected, given his general lack of experience with women—something that was all too obvious—that he would be an awkward dancer. Instead, he was remarkably natural, and moved with a grace that was almost elven. Una's misery was increased tenfold when she saw what her lack of skill on the dance floor was costing her. But she couldn't quite tear her eyes away, either.

Then a large obstruction blocked her view. Ser Perth bent low over Una's hand. He had seen her wistful gaze trained on the dance floor and hoped that this would be his opportunity. Clearly she longed to dance—what woman wouldn't? "My lady? Could I request the pleasure of this dance?"

Una blushed in an agony of embarrassment, but Perth misread it as pleasure. "Oh, Ser Perth. You don't want to do that."

"Of course I do." He tugged gently on her hand. He was all too used to the false protestations of noble ladies.

"No, I mean—I'm a bad dancer. I'll step on your feet!" Una was desperate to avoid being dragged onto the dance floor. "I'm not kidding!"

"Dear lady! As if you could be anything less than graceful," Perth said smoothly. He pulled her with him and took her in his arms. Alistair, watching this, was heartened that Una seemed so incredibly reluctant to dance with the knight, but gritted his teeth when he saw how naturally Perth's head bent low over Una's, looking protective and, well, just the right height.

But after the fourth time in two minutes that Una had stepped on his foot—painfully, too—Perth couldn't help it. "Would you be, uh, happier, sitting down?" He had never encountered this particular issue before (he was generally considered a marvelous dance partner), and was irritated with himself and with her that he had lost his self-possession enough to stumble over his tongue that way.

"Yes, please!" Una said with considerable relief. She saw Perth wince, but whether it was from bruised pride or the fifth time she'd stepped on his foot, she didn't know.

Shortly after he'd helped her to her seat—limping a little, she noticed—Perth found a village girl who was more than happy to dance with him. And probably wouldn't step on his feet, Una thought. She relaxed a bit, hoping that debacle would mean she was free from further exhortations to dance and could relax and watch Alistair in peace. But when she surveyed the dance floor, she didn't see him.

Alistair, on the other hand, was all too aware of where she was. He'd seen the whole dance with Perth, and while he was glad to see the other man's confidence taken down a peg, he'd felt awful for Una. Now he was torn. He wanted to dance with her, and he really wanted to show Perth that he could dance with her—but what if he couldn't, and he embarrassed her all over again? He took a large swallow of ale, considering. What finally decided him was the question of when he might have the opportunity again. He suspected there wasn't a lot of dancing in their immediate future, and he'd be hanged if he'd miss this chance.

Una smelled that faintly spicy scent before she saw him. But her heart sank when she saw his hand reach out for her in the unmistakable "dance with me" signal. Hadn't he seen her humiliation with Ser Perth? Then she looked up, and surprised something in his eyes that she'd never seen before, something shy and hesitant. She thought, if he hadn't seen the dance with Perth, then her refusal would seem like rejection. And what if he never looked at her like that again? Sending a silent prayer to the Maker for some kind of grace, she took his hand.

As he took her in his arms, they were both surprised and excited by how well they fit together. Una was reminded of why she'd fallen for him in the first place, how completely comfortable he could make her feel. She didn't feel nearly as gawky as usual … until she stepped on his foot. He winced. "I'm sorry," she said miserably. "I'm so bad at this."

"No training?" he asked.

"Too much. But it never took." She took a deep breath, and then said, "You don't have to dance with me, you know."

"I know." Something in his voice caused her knees to buckle and she stumbled. "It's not that hard, Una," he said, his arm tightening around her waist to keep her from falling. "It's like … fighting, only slower. And without the bleeding. And you know you're graceful on the battlefield."

"So should we have an argument?" She grinned at him, forgetting to be uncomfortable for a moment.

"Perish the thought," he said in mock horror. Then, more seriously, "But maybe don't think about it so hard. Just … talk to me."

"Oh. Okay. I can try that." She thought for a moment, then asked, "Where did you learn to dance like this?"

"There she goes with the questions! 'Tell me all about your life, Alistair.'"

"I'm sorry, I'm curious! After all, the Chantry isn't so much about the dancing. And I don't think I want to imagine all the templar trainees dancing together in the dorms." They both laughed at the image.

"No, I don't really want to imagine that, either."

"So, where did you learn?"

"Where else? In the kitchens. I was banished there all the time. Often enough that the elves who worked there started to see me as one of them. They used to have a great time when there weren't other humans around, and after a while they let me join in."

"Ah, so that's why!"

"Why what?"

"I was thinking … before … that you looked a little elven while you danced."

Alistair missed a step himself, thinking of her watching him. They both blushed furiously, and conversation died. Until Una looked down at her own feet and made a surprising realization. "Hey, I can dance!"

"See? I told you so." He couldn't resist a smug look in the direction of Ser Perth. "It just takes the right partner," he added without thinking. At Una's swiftly indrawn breath, their eyes met. Her eyes had gone liquid soft, and her mouth was so close. Alistair heard himself groan. One of his arms gripped her waist, the other hand left hers to splay across the middle of her back, pulling her closer. She made a small sound in the back of her throat. "Una—" he breathed. He felt her long fingers slide around to caress the back of his neck. The sensation was unbelievable. Until he felt the chain of the Grey Warden medallion around his neck shift under her hand.

Abruptly he stepped back. He felt like a heel when he saw the flash of hurt and rejection in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I—" But he didn't know what to say. He only knew that he wasn't ready for this.

Una felt cold and lost suddenly, standing alone. Tears stung the back of her eyes. Had she done something wrong? But her mother's words came back to her. "Let him lead. You'll know that he's sure you're what he wants." She took a deep, shaky breath. "We ought to get some sleep, anyway. We have an early morning tomorrow." With some effort, she managed to smile at him. "Thank you for the dance. I … I didn't know I could dance like that. I'm going to head up. Good night."

And then she was gone, leaving him standing there more confused than ever. He hadn't made her angry, that much he could tell, but why not? Was she relieved that he hadn't kissed her? Would that have been too forward anyway? He remembered the way her eyes had melted into his, and a shudder ran through him. No, he didn't think she was relieved. She had clearly been hurt when he first stepped back, but had regained control of herself almost immediately. He lifted a mug of ale from a passing tray and drained it. Women were sodding confusing, he reflected as he made his way up to his room.


	10. Ambush

The next morning they were up at first light, beginning the trek toward the Circle Tower. Una somehow managed to act normally. Alistair tried to follow her lead, but he still felt guilty over the way he had ended their dance, and was completely unable to sort through the complex web of what he felt for her.

Shortly after their lunch break, they ran into a woman standing by the road. She flagged them down, crying out that her party was being ambushed by bandits.

Una ran ahead with the woman, the others following. Alistair didn't see exactly what happened, but suddenly a tree fell. The tree blocked his view of Una, and for a moment he thought it had landed on her. As he ran forward, his heart in his throat, his brain was calling out in panic. He realized how much he had come to count on her leadership, her laughter warming the cold campsites, her hand that had reached down into the darkness of his despair and pulled him out. What would he do if something happened to her?

As he reached the fallen tree, he saw that she had leaped clear and was getting to her feet. He also saw the elf with the knives who had stepped out from behind the wagon and the array of other fighters that suddenly surrounded them. He felt an irrational anger bubble up in him. What had she been thinking, running ahead like that, putting herself in danger and leading them into an ambush?

Alistair put his anger to good use, whaling on the bandits until there were none left. Except the elf, who lay on the ground groaning. Una walked over to him and nudged him, none too gently, with her foot until he was able to speak coherently.

It turned out that the elf was a member of the Antivan Crows, a feared assassin organization. He'd been hired by Teyrn Loghain to kill the remaining Grey Wardens. And in an accent that made Alistair's skin crawl, the elf proceeded to talk his way into the party, convincing Una—somehow—that he would be a good addition. Alistair thought he might have to be sick. A dangerous assassin who had already tried to kill her? Who was, in the bargain, a good-looking elf with a sexy accent who had already made it clear that he was very, very available to the tall, beautiful Grey Warden lady? That's just what they needed to make things more interesting. And yes, apparently everyone did have to flirt with her.

The longer he thought about it, the angrier he got.

Una could sense Alistair's temperature rising. It didn't surprise her entirely that he should object to the addition of the elf, Zevran, but the decision made sense to her. "Leliana, Morrigan, can the two of you take Zevran up to that clearing, maybe see to his wounds and start setting up a camp? We'll stay here tonight and go on to the Tower in the morning. Alistair and I will clean up down here."

There was surprisingly little grumbling as the two women walked off with the elf supported on their shoulders. Grenli went off with them, but he turned around and growled warningly at Alistair before he left. Nosy hound, Alistair thought.

The others were barely out of sight before he turned on her. "What in the name of Andraste were you thinking?!"

"'Keep your friends where you can grasp their hand. Keep your enemies where you can grasp their throats'," quoted Una. "Isn't that what General Cairados wrote?" Methodically, she began to loot the battle site.

"You read _The Treatise on Warfare_?" Alistair gawked at her.

Now she was angry, too. She straightened up, her fists on her hips. "I am just as much a warrior as you are," she shouted. "I spent my training years studying just like you did. What do you think, that I'm some dilettante little girl playing with the men's toys?"

"Sometimes you act like it!"

"Oh, yeah? I didn't hear you complaining when you asked me to take the lead!"

"No, and maybe I wouldn't have asked you to if I'd known you were going to go running off almost getting yourself killed while leading the rest of us into an ambush!"

"Anytime you want to take over, just say the word," she said, softly and dangerously. She turned back to the crate she'd been rummaging through.

He stared at her, his mouth open. How dare she turn this all around and act like he'd done something wrong? Never mind that he probably had, he wasn't letting her get the last word. "So what do you think, then," he asked belligerently, "that you're better than me?"

She stood up, her eyes flashing at the challenge. "You know where to find me if you want to find out."

"No time like the present, is there?" He picked up a tree branch that was about the size of his sword.

"Fine." Una cast around for a branch the same size as her greatsword. "Ready?"

He nodded. They circled each other warily for a moment. Leliana, coming back to find out what was taking so long, caught sight of the duel about to take place. Her eyes glinted, and she turned around to run back to the camp.

Meanwhile, Una struck out with a pommel strike, which Alistair easily parried with his shield. "Is that it?"

"Just getting started," she said. The tree branch swept toward his unprotected side, but he agilely stepped away from the blow. While she was off balance, he caught her with a shield bash. Una stumbled backward but didn't fall. Before he thought she'd had time to get set again, she clipped him in the side of the leg with a downward sweep of her branch.

They stepped apart, reevaluating now that they'd each taken a hit. Neither of them noticed the four pairs of eyes—two human, one elven, one canine—that peeked over the overhang to watch.

"Tell me something," Una said, whirling the branch above her head and striking. He parried again, grunting from the impact.

"Yes?"

"What set you off?"

He slashed at her. Una jumped back easily. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Last night," she began, lunging forward. The branch scraped along his side before he deflected it with his own. "You know." Both of them were too focused on the fight to blush at the memory of their dance. "And this morning? Suddenly you're screaming at me." She let her breath out in a whuff of effort as she parried his next strike.

"Do you know what could have happened to you, running ahead like that?" The worry he'd felt came back to him, and he attacked her in a flurry of strokes. Una fell back, blocking right and left. She took advantage of his momentary distraction to duck under his sword arm.

"It was fine, Alistair," she said impatiently, swinging the branch. He caught the impact on his shield.

"You ran into an ambush!" he shouted. "That elf almost killed you!" They both struck at the same time, and the force of the blow cracked both branches.

Above them, they heard Morrigan's surprising laughter. Both of them looked up to catch the rest of the party staring down at them from the bluff.

"What in Thedas?" Una asked.

"I won," Morrigan said with a rare smile. "I bet it would be a draw."

"You were betting on us?" Una's voice rose in outrage.

"And why not?" purred the elf in those damnably sultry tones. "When two such titans clash, it is always good to see who will come out the victor. I had my money on you, my lady."

Una flushed, and Alistair's jaw clenched. Leliana giggled. "I had my money on Alistair." At Una's raised eyebrow, she shrugged. "I thought the shield would give him an advantage."

Grenli barked and wagged his tail, and Una glared at him. "Now that everyone's been thoroughly entertained, can we all have something to eat and get some rest?" she snapped. She stalked off toward the campsite, trying to ignore the clinking of coins as Zevran and Leliana paid Morrigan her winnings.

Alistair and Una were both notably silent in camp that night, leaving Zevran and Leliana to keep up the conversation. The two of them told stories most of the evening, ignoring their sulky comrades. Alistair was still seething, and every gallant Antivan-accented compliment thrown in Una's direction made him want to find a whole company of darkspawn to smash.

Una, on the other hand, had calmed down enough to acknowledge that Alistair had a point about the rushing ahead. She felt guilty and self-conscious—but at the same time, she hated to back down from a fight. And it was all complicated by the small cloth-wrapped object in the bottom of her pack that she wanted to give him. She couldn't give it to him while he was angry at her, but she didn't want to wait too long, either. Still wrestling with her dilemma, she withdrew to her tent, pulling out a sheet of vellum.

_Dear Mother and Father,  
Impulsive Pup has done it again. I rushed into an ambush, nearly got us all killed. Now we've added an Antivan Crow of dubious loyalty to our party—I was reminded of General Cairados, Father, in deciding to keep him with us. "It is better to keep the enemy at your side than let him out of your sight."  
We're going now to the mages at the Circle to ask their help in saving a little boy—the son of Arl Eamon of Redcliffe—who has become an abomination. Perhaps I should have had the boy killed, but all I could see was Oren. How could I not try to save him?  
Only now I'm in a huge argument with Alistair. We were dancing together last night (Did you know I can dance now? Apparently all it took was the right person to dance with!) and I think he almost kissed me. (Close your ears, Father.) I honestly thought I was going to collapse. I had no idea it would be so … overwhelming. Then he just—stopped. You'd be so proud of me, Mother. I didn't cry, or get angry, or let on how hurt and confused I was. I just took a deep breath, thanked him for the dance, and went to bed. I remembered what you said, and thought maybe if I let him step back he'd be more ready to step forward the next time. I hope. But then after the ambush, and after I let Zevran (the Crow) join the party, he got so angry with me, and of course I can never let an argument go, and we wound up fighting each other. (It was a draw, Father. The tree branches we were using as fighting swords broke. But I'll get him the next time.)  
So now … well, he's right, I was heedless and impulsive. Surprising, I know. I need to apologize, but I don't know how. And I hate fighting with him. It takes all the good out of everything we're doing. Guidance? Please?  
All my love,  
Pup_

Una peeked out from inside her tent. Everyone appeared to have gone to sleep, so she stepped out cautiously, clutching the paper. There was no stream nearby, as the campsite had been chosen so hastily. Instead, she crept to the fireside. It had burned low, but there was enough flame left. She laid the sheet of paper flat on top of the coals and watched as her words turned to ashes and flew up into the sky. Kneeling there, she listened for the familiar voices.

_Pup, you make your father proud. I always knew you had good training._ Una could almost see her mother's eye-roll and her father's teasing look as he boasted. _But now I also know you know how to apply it and how to use your heart and your head together. Ferelden is in good hands, my girl. The boy is growing on me. He's worthy of his father's blood. But I'm still not sure he's worthy of my daughter._ Una smiled fondly. Then her mother's voice cut in. _Una, my dear. Your father's praise, though fulsome as always, is deserved. You are a credit to your training. You know that you are too headstrong and too impulsive, and I know you struggle to curb those traits. And mostly succeed. But you are going to have to learn to admit when you are wrong. You'll never be able to have an equal relationship if you don't learn that sometimes you have to be the one to back down._ Her father's voice cut in. _And when, Eleanor, have you ever admitted you were wrong about anything?_ Then her mother: _Hush, Bryce. If I'd ever been wrong, you'd have been the first to point it out to me._ Una's smile stretched into a grin. She loved it when they wrangled with each other—their deep love always showed underneath. _We love you, Una. Our Pup is growing up into an exceptional woman._

As the voices went silent, Una brushed away a single tear that had escaped the corner of her eye. How she missed them.

Then a smooth voice spoke from the darkness. "Ah, the lovely and mysterious Warden. She writes feverishly. She burns her paper, then she listens, she smiles … and she weeps."

Una jumped, her heart pounding. Then she realized. "Zevran. You don't have a tent. I had forgotten."

"Clearly so." She heard him shift on his bedroll and cough slightly.

"How are you doing? Are your injuries healing?"

"The ones to my body, yes. The ones to my pride?" There was a silence, and she could imagine him giving an eloquent shrug, if she couldn't see it in the darkness. "It is an interesting predicament, to be shown such mercy by one I would have killed only a few short hours ago." "Does it tempt you to want to go back on your word?"

"Having watched you take on not only my men but your own, as well? I have no wish to be on the receiving end of your greatsword. Or your tree branch." The smirk was obvious in his voice.

"You strike me as the sort of man who would not necessarily need to attack from the front. Or with weaponry."

He laughed. "You are not only gorgeous but also perceptive. Yes, I have my many ways. I have been well-trained, you see. But now I put those skills at your service."

"Why? Just because the Crows would kill you?"

"That, yes. Also, the Blight spreads. Soon it will take all of Ferelden, and after that? Even Antiva may fall. You appear to be the only one fighting it, and you … ahem, could use some help."

Una stood up, brushing dirt off her knees. "I appreciate the assistance, Zevran. All the same, though, don't expect to take a turn at the cooking any time soon."

"Ah, but you should taste my jambalaya. With beautiful Antivan sausage," he purred. She could hear him shifting as he lay back onto his bedroll.

She ducked back into her tent, tying the flaps firmly closed behind her. Outside, she heard the pad of soft paws as Grenli emerged from the darkness and flopped down to lie in front of the tent opening. Exhausted, Una lay down in her blankets and was asleep in only a few minutes.


	11. Rose

During their travel the next day, Alistair kept his distance. Una couldn't tell if he was still angry or not.

As they left the shady spot where they had paused for lunch, Leliana was walking with Zevran, ostensibly to keep an eye on him in case his wounds pained him any further. Alistair hung back, letting the other two walk ahead. He liked to have the elf in sight. Just in case. He didn't see Morrigan, as usual, and Grenli was chasing a butterfly by the side of the trail. Una had been leading as they left the glade, but now he didn't see her.

Until he passed by a pair of beech trees growing by the wayside. Una stepped out from between them. Her green armor, an ancient elven set they had found in a ruin in the Forest, had blended right in with the trees. "Alistair?" she asked hesitantly. "Can I talk to you?"

"Did you know that armor completely camouflages you in the trees?" he grumbled, but he let her fall in step with him.

"I did know that, actually. It's one of the reasons I like it. Also, it's comfortable and it moves well." Her voice trailed off, and they walked in silence for a few minutes. "Um, Alistair.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry about yesterday. You were right, that was reckless and impulsive and stupid, and I could have gotten us all killed. I'll pay more attention next time." The words spilled out in a rush.

He glanced sidewise at her. She was staring down at her boots as they scuffed along the track. Alistair felt a strange combination of guilt for making her admit she was wrong, pride in her that she was able to, and triumph that he'd won the first battle of wills. "I shouldn't have yelled at you about it," he said. "I could have been more, uh, thoughtful in my criticism."

She grinned. "I wouldn't have listened. Sometimes you have to beat me over the head to make a point."

"I'll keep that in mind."

As she thought about the literal beating they'd tried to give each other the day before, she said, "Or maybe we could just learn to communicate more effectively. You know, without the fighting."

"And never figure out which one of us is better?" His eyebrows lifted. "This is a question the ages insist must be answered."

"You're on, buddy. I'll wipe the floor with you."

"You wish."

They both laughed, and walked for a while in companionable silence. Much better, Una reflected. Then she remembered the object in her pack. "Alistair, wait a second, will you?"

"Sure." He stopped walking, watching her curiously as she jumbled things around in her pack until she found what she sought carefully tucked away in the bottom. Alistair assumed it was some trinket she'd picked up at a vendor's stall somewhere. She did that, bought little things the rest of them liked just because. It was a generous part of her nature. Although come to think of it, Alistair thought, none of them had ever gotten anything for her. Maybe he'd have to work on that.

Una straightened up, handing him a small bundle wrapped in a piece of soft wool. As he unwrapped it, he could tell by her air of expectancy that this was no ordinary trinket. Then the wool fell away, and he stared at the amulet in his hands. "This— This is my mother's amulet! It has to be. But why isn't it broken?"

Una explained that she had found the amulet in Arl Eamon's desk when she was looking for more vellum. She'd guessed it was Alistair's mother's amulet as soon as she'd seen it, assuming that Eamon must have painstakingly put the pieces back together.

"I don't understand," Alistair said. "Why would he do that?"

"Maybe you mean more to him than you thought," Una suggested.

Alistair found the idea staggering. He'd harbored such resentment all this time over his dismissal from Redcliffe Castle. It had never occurred to him that the Arl may have felt conflicted about it. They talked about Arl Eamon for a moment more, then Alistair frowned as he turned the amulet over in his hands. He looked up at Una. "Did you remember me mentioning this?" At her nod, he said, "Thank you. I'm used to people not really listening when I go on about things."

In his eyes, Una could see that at last, all the defenses were gone. Looking out at her was the little boy scarred and lonely from a lifetime of rejection. It was to that little boy that she said, "Of course I remembered. You're special to me."

For a minute the eyes lit with something that made Una's heart leap in her chest. Then the defenses slammed back in, one after the other. He made a ham-handed joke to escape the moment. Una smiled. Patting him on the back, she said, "You're welcome, Alistair." Then she sped up to catch up with Grenli, throwing a stick for the mabari to fetch.

Alistair watched them as they gamboled together. Special? No one in his life had ever called him special before, or indicated that he was important to them. Now in the space of a couple of minutes he'd learned that Arl Eamon had cared enough about him to piece together his precious amulet and hold on to it for all this time, and that Una thought enough of him to remember him mentioning the amulet. He felt suddenly light and warm, and he couldn't help grinning. Broadly. No matter if Morrigan looked at him funny because of it.

That night as they sat by the campfire, he tried to think of something he could give Una, something that would tell her that he saw all the little things she did for all of them and how hard she tried to cover her doubts and her fears. At last it came to him, but only after everyone had turned in for the night. It would keep until their next night in camp, he decided.

The next morning they were ferried across Lake Calenhad to the Circle Tower, only to find that abominations were loose in the Tower and the Templars had sealed the mages in and left them to die. Una talked her way in, as usual reluctant to accept that death was the best option, and inside the Tower doors they found Wynne, the mage they had met in Ostagar, holding the door against the abominations. Leliana had stayed outside the Tower with Grenli, and now Morrigan refused to go any further. Her scorn for the mages who allowed themselves to be locked in a tower their whole lives burned bitterly in her, and she was not going to help save them or their cage. So Una and Alistair and Zevran went forward with Wynne, making their way through the ruined rooms of the Tower.

On the third floor, after none of them knew how long they'd been fighting their way through demons and abominations and the possessed souls of the dead, Una called a halt. "We'll rest here for an hour, have something to eat and maybe a small nap, and then go on." At Wynne's murmur of protest, Una said, "We're all exhausted, Wynne. I suspect the higher we go, the harder it will be. I want everyone as close to full strength as possible. A rest now may save us all later." Even Wynne had to nod in agreement at that.

Una pulled the mage aside as the other two dug some food from their packs. "Wynne, what happened here?"

"I don't know," Wynne said, shaking her head. "Everyone had gone to some kind of meeting. I was still recovering from Ostagar, so I didn't go. The first I knew anything had gone wrong was when I heard shrieks in the hallway, and saw people running. Three of my former apprentices became abominations before my eyes." She closed her eyes, shivering.

"Then what?" Una asked after a sympathetic moment.

"Then those of us who were left … ran. I erected the barrier to keep the demons from getting the children once it became clear there were no more of us coming out. What may have happened to the others, I dare not think. I hope that Irving and those with him are still safe." The mage put a hand up to her face, rubbing at her eyes.

Una put her hand on the other woman's shoulder. "Try and rest a bit if you can," she said. "I know it's difficult, but I promise you, we will get to them."

"I almost believe you," Wynne said softly.

Zevran was just finishing a dry biscuit as Una joined him.

"It is an exciting life you lead, beautiful lady," he said, looking up at her.

"Quite. I'm sure yours has been equally so, though," she said, hunkering down next to him.

"Oh, so true," he said reflectively. "Antiva … how I miss her."

"What do you miss?"

"What do I not miss? The warmth, the beauty, the money to be made killing people …"

"I hope your track record in Antiva is better than it is in Ferelden," Una said dryly.

"By all means," he purred. "I am quite … fearsome in Antiva. But do you know what I miss the most about Antiva?" he said, turning thoughtful. "The smell of Antivan leather."

"Is that a euphemism?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not in this case, no." He laughed quietly. Alistair looked up from the crumbly hunk of cheese he was eating, and his eyes narrowed. Una didn't notice, but Zevran did, and he laughed harder, edging just a bit closer to Una. "You see, when I was bought by the Crows to be raised as an assassin, I lived in a small apartment above a leather-worker's shop. Many of the others complained of the stench, but I grew to love it. To this day, Antivan leather is the scent I find most enticing. There was a pair of boots I was eyeing," he murmured. "The money from this one simple task—taking down a Grey Warden in Ferelden—was to have bought me these boots. But alas! As it turns out the Warden was a deadly sex goddess who is bent on using me for her own … pleasure?" He tilted an eyebrow.

"It's your skill in battle I value, Zevran. Not your more exotic accomplishments."

"It is too bad," he sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall as she got up.

As soon as Una turned from the others to find Alistair, she felt her tension began to ease. It had not gone unnoticed in camp—except by the two of them—how she always saved Alistair for last as she made her rounds of the team. What Una did know was that the moment when she could sit down next to Alistair and relax was the time she most looked forward to. It was her special present to herself, getting to spend a few minutes talking to him at the end of every day.

He sat against the wall of the hallway, studying his rose. She and Leliana had speculated about that rose, having seen it appear in his hands a number of times since they'd left Lothering. It never seemed to fade or die, and bouncing around in Alistair's pack hadn't seemed to harm it any. Una walked over, sliding down the wall to sit next to him. "Everything okay with you?" she asked.

"What?"

"Hello? Alistair? Anyone in there?" She knocked playfully on the side of his head.

"Sorry," he said. "I was … lost in thought." He looked at the rose, then sideways at her. He hadn't intended to do this right now, but he hadn't noticed her coming toward him in time to put the rose away. Besides, who knew what awaited them farther up in the Tower? There might not be time later. "Here," he said abruptly, putting the rose into her hands. "Look at this. Do you know what this is?"

Una raised an eyebrow at him. "Is this a trick question?"

"Yes, absolutely. I'm trying to trick you. Is it working?" He grinned nervously. "Aw, I almost had you, didn't I?"

"Oh, yes. You're wily." She still didn't know where this was going.

"Nefarious, even," he said, with an evil laugh that made Una laugh and want to kiss him all at the same time. Then his smile faded, and he said more seriously, "I picked it in Lothering. I remember thinking, 'How could something so beautiful exist in a place filled with so much despair and ugliness?' … I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn't. The darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it. So I've had it ever since."

Una turned the rose in her hands, looking at him curiously. "What do you intend to do with it?"

"I thought I might … give it to you, actually," he said softly. "In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you."

Catching her breath, Una fought the tears that stung her eyes. Instead she borrowed a page from his book. With a slightly watery chuckle, she asked, "So you think of me as a gentle flower?"

He laughed. "A gentle flower? No, I wouldn't exactly say that." Alistair glanced at her sideways again, not sure how she was taking this. "I suppose it's a little silly, isn't it?" he asked. He tried to tell her how much he appreciated her listening to all his complaining, and how badly he felt that her experience as a Grey Warden had been so much less than it should have been, but the words just didn't seem to be coming out right. Finally she looked at him, and he saw the shine of the tears in her eyes, and suddenly he knew just what he wanted her to know. "I thought maybe I could say something. Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this … darkness."

She sniffed, her lip quivering. It was so unbelievable to be sitting here next to him in the midst of this nightmare and have him make this lovely gesture as if they were … anywhere else. "I feel the same way about you," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Alistair bumped her shoulder gently with his. "I'm glad you like it," he said. For once he looked simply happy. Then he cleared his throat. "Now, if we could move past this awkward, embarrassing stage and get right on to the steamy bits, I'd appreciate it." He grinned at her.

She grinned back, swiping the back of her hand across her eyes. "All right, then. Off with the armor," she said, chuckling.

He laughed, albeit a bit nervously. "Bluff called. Damn! She saw right through me."

"You're cute when you're bashful," she said. She smiled at him, her whole-souled smile that took his breath away. And he thought how glad he was that they were sitting down. Because if they'd been standing up, if he could have easily put his arms around her and pushed her up against the wall, he'd have had to kiss her. Had to. Despite the gore-spattered armor and the horrors in the Tower and the amusement of Zevran and the undoubted disapproval of Wynne. And he thought, from how Una was staring at him, that maybe she felt the same way. Oh, this rest stop had been a great idea, he thought. He felt as if he could take on a whole legion of abominations single-handed, if it meant she would look at him like that.

And then they opened a door and stepped into a room … and Una woke up in the Fade. Alone.


	12. Exhaustion

A Sloth demon lurking in the midst of the Tower had put their whole party to sleep. Una was alone in what pretended to be the Grey Warden home base of Weisshaupt Fortress, and the image of Duncan tried to convince her that the Blight was over. It all rang false to Una, and she found herself in battle with Duncan's image. This she could never tell Alistair about, she reflected in amusement.

The Sloth demon's realm turned out to be a vast puzzle to solve, involving changing into a mouse, a golem, and two different kinds of spirits in order to defeat the five demons who ran the various islands in the realm. In the process, she found the other members of her team, having to talk them all out of their dreams. Alistair was the last one she found, so she was prepared for him to be in the throes of a dream: deep in false domestic bliss living with a sister Una hadn't known he had. Otherwise, she might have thrown herself at him on sight, so glad was she to have found him. Unfortunately, after she'd found each of her companions, they awakened from the dream realm and left her to continue battling alone. By the time they were all reunited to fight the Sloth demon, Una was completely drained. It seemed as though she'd been fighting in the demon's realm all by herself for an eternity. On the other hand, she thought, it was good to know she could fight alone when necessary.

At last they were back in the room in the middle of the Tower. The others all looked a bit shame-faced, and Una had to admit she was a little resentful that she'd been the only one to retain her awareness. Even the mage had fallen under the demon's spell. She didn't want to talk to them. Refusing to meet anyone's eyes, she waved them all forward. There was a Tower to save, after all.

They battled their way through the rest of the Tower, finding First Enchanter Irving and a few others who had been able to hold out against the abominations still imprisoned in the Harrowing chamber at the very top. It was a near thing a couple of times in that fight, but they took out the abominations and were able to restore the Tower to the control of the mages and the Templars. In gratitude, the First Enchanter not only pledged his support against the darkspawn, but also agreed to bring a group of mages to Redcliffe in order to try to save the boy Connor.

Una thanked him, so weary that she could barely stand upright. Then both Una and Irving were given a surprise. Wynne, having fought at Una's side all the way through the Tower, asked leave to follow the Grey Warden, to join the fight against the Blight. As she watched them discuss the idea, Una could tell that great affection flowed between the older woman and the First Enchanter, and that Irving could not deny Wynne her request. Una herself was grateful for the addition. Wynne was a powerful healer who would be very useful in their travels.

The group of them left the Tower, turning their steps back toward Redcliffe. They didn't get very far before Una called a halt, choosing the first likely campsite. It was only midafternoon, but she felt like she could sleep for a year. She didn't even bother to set up a tent, and didn't ask the others if they needed anything. She simply unrolled her bedroll in a shady spot, lay down, and was asleep almost immediately.

The others tiptoed around her as best they could. Those who had not been in the Tower eyed her curiously, wondering what could have been that draining. Those who had been in the Fade had some idea of what she had been through, but even they couldn't really imagine it. Single-handedly fighting her way through five different nightmare versions of the Tower, knowing all the time that only she stood between them and the failure of their mission, worrying all the way what was happening to her companions—it had been the single most exhausting experience of her life.

The nap helped refresh her body, but Una was still weary in spirit when she awoke. Dinner was bubbling on the fire, and everyone was getting acquainted, she noticed. Except, as always, Morrigan. Una got ready to do her rounds, hoping to get a few chats in before dinner. But before she could do so, she heard a happy bark, and a hundred plus pounds of mabari hurtled through camp, landing squarely in her chest. She fell over with him, laughing. Grenli could raise her spirits like no one else. She grimaced as he panted happily in her face. "Eww, Gren. What have you been eating?" He barked again, and she shook her head. "No, forget it. Don't tell me. I don't want to know."

"The dog is a bit rank," Wynne said calmly, reaching a surprisingly strong hand (or not surprising? The battles in the Tower had demonstrated that Wynne, though old, was still youthful in spirit) to help Una up. "Do you think he would object to being bathed?"

Una looked speculatively at the dog, who cowered and whined. "I think it's a good idea. He is on the smelly side." Grenli growled lightly. "Gren, do you want the darkspawn to track us by your smell?" Una said in mock sternness. The dog barked. "Oh, you only think I'm joking," she said in reply. "Wynne, he's all yours. Grenli, behave."

"Excellent," said Wynne to the dog. "I will get my soaps and you shall have your bath after supper, Grenli." The dog whined again, but he snuffled Wynne's hand with his nose forgivingly. Una smiled at both of them. Reaching into her pack, she took out a wrapped bundle and turned her steps toward Morrigan's fire.

"Mother's grimoire?!" Morrigan exclaimed as she took the black book out of the package, cradling it reverently in her arms. A light glinted in her clear amber eyes as she studied it speculatively. She looked hungry and somehow furtive.

"What do you hope to learn from it?" Una asked cautiously, not sure if she really wanted the answer.

"Secrets," Morrigan hissed. The firelight picked out pinpoints of light in her eyes, and they glittered feverishly. "Many things Mother never wanted me to know."

"Good luck with that, then," Una said, turning away from the mage with a shiver.

"Una," Morrigan called. She didn't usually use names, other than the scornful way her tongue rolled itself around the word "Alistair". Una looked back, trying not to think of the strange sparks between the witch and the other Grey Warden. "Thank you for this … my friend."

Una nodded, smiling slightly, before turning back to the more boisterous gathering at the other fire. It was nice to be on Morrigan's good side, she thought, but it would not do to trust her too much.

Dinner was being dished up, and Una sank down next to Alistair, taking a plate from him. "Do you know what this is?" she asked him, eyeing the plate suspiciously.

"No, can't say that I do." He speared a lump of something, chewing thoughtfully. "It's not bad, though."

"Seriously, you'll eat anything." But she attacked the food as well. She was ravenous.

"You know, that's a Grey Warden thing," he said.

"Eating anything?"

"And everything. Increased appetite is one of the things that changes about you after the Joining."

"What are the others?"

He looked at her thoughtfully. "I asked Duncan that too, once, and all I got was, 'You'll see.'"

"Just try that line on me," Una growled.

His grin shot a bolt of heat straight down into the pit of her stomach. "Oh, I have other lines for you. Trust me."

On any other day, the promise in his voice would have had her imagining all sorts of delicious things. Today, though, after she got her breathing under control, she just nudged him in the arm, not gently, with the point of her fork. "Out with it."

"Well, there are the nightmares," he said, serious again.

"I know about those." Una shuddered, trying not to think of the dreams of the previous night.

"They're supposed to be worse if you Join during a Blight," he said sympathetically. "You learn to block it out after a while, but at first, it's hard." They ate quietly for a few minutes. Then he said, "Once you reach a certain age, the real nightmares start. That's how a Grey Warden knows his time has come."

A heavy, dark feeling settled on Una's shoulders. "What do you mean, 'his time has come'?"

"Oh, that's right. We never had time to tell you that part, did we?" At her shake of the head, Alistair said, "In addition to all the other wonderful things about being a Grey Warden, you'll never have to worry about dying from old age." Her eyes widened as he continued. "You've got 30 years to live. Give or take. The taint … it's a death sentence. Ultimately your body won't be able to take it. When the time comes, most Grey Wardens go to Orzammar and die in battle instead of … waiting. It's tradition."

Una sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. "How cheery."

"And you wondered why we kept the Joining a secret from the new recruits! There you have it."

"I never wondered that," she said dully. "I understand."

"You know," Alistair said, his eyes on the fire, "Duncan had started having the nightmares again. He told me privately that it wouldn't be long before he went to Orzammar. I guess … he got what he wanted."

"I guess he did," Una said. She got up, leaving her half-empty plate on the ground. Alistair watched her, sorry that all that had to come up on a night when she was so obviously at the end of her rope. But she'd have had to know eventually, he thought, wishing there was something he could do to cushion the shock. Wishing he could hold her for a few minutes and let her lean on him … wishing he knew if that was even what she wanted. For the love of Andraste, he'd thought maybe they were approaching some kind of understanding when he'd given her that rose, but tonight he'd tried his best flirting. And while her eyes had gone all hazy, she hadn't smiled. Not at all.

Grenli came padding over and sat down next to Alistair. "No, I'm not sharing. And whatever you're thinking … keep it to yourself." The dog yipped happily, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Alistair had the uncomfortable feeling the mabari was laughing at him.

In the darkness under the trees Una rubbed a hand over her face. The hits just kept on coming tonight. It was turning out to be quite the evening.

"The lovely Warden seems pensive," Zevran lilted at her elbow. "It was a long day."

"It was several of them," she said, fingers gripping her aching temples.

"You know, I have some skill in the area of … tension relief."

She eyed him warily. "Pass."

"I speak merely of the fine and relaxing art of massage."

"Right. Zev, do you honestly think I'm ready to have your hands at my back?"

"Point taken, beautiful lady. But do not think that I missed you calling me Zev. I take it as a good sign." There was a brief pause, and then the smooth voice went on, more seriously. "I wanted to thank you for your efforts in the Tower. It is to my eternal shame that I allowed myself to be drawn into a nightmare such as that one, powerless to remove myself from it. I will not forget that you saved me."

Una stopped, turning to look at him. His brown eyes were unusually forthright as they held hers. "You're welcome, Zev." Having her efforts acknowledged meant more to her than she would have expected. "I appreciate the sentiment."

He bowed, smiling crookedly. Then, as if to cover his display of actual emotion, he purred, "If the beautiful goddess requires me to perform any acts of appreciation …" His voice trailed off suggestively.

"Not going to happen, Zev. Today, tomorrow, and every day after that—I'm not interested. Let me make that very clear."

He arched a golden eyebrow. "But of course. There is no need to tell me twice. I have eyes, after all, to see who watches whom." His eyes twinkled at her, and he turned back to the campfire.

Alistair had watched this exchange, straining to see them in the shadows, with a growing tightness in his chest. He couldn't hear what they were saying, and he desperately wanted to. What if that smarmy little elf was more to her taste? Certainly he had a way with words, whereas Alistair felt he tripped over his tongue more often than not when she was around, especially recently. He was relieved when he saw Zevran come back alone, but seethed at the self-satisfied smirk on the assassin's face.

Una slowly continued around the perimeter before returning to the campfire. Dinner was over by the time she got back, and it was a gloomy night all around, she could see. She sat down next to Leliana. "Thank you for cooking," she said to her friend. "It can't be easy to feed this whole crew with our limited resources."

Leliana laughed. "It is my pleasure." She studied Una for a moment. "I think, today, I am happy to have been cooking instead of fighting."

Una's laugh was bitter. "You can say that again."

"I am reminded of a song sung to me many years ago," Leliana said. "It was when my mother died. This wise elven woman comforted me and told me that we shouldn't fear death, or hate it. Death is just another beginning. One day we will all shed our earthly bodies to allow our spirits to fly free."

Una's eyes stung with tears. "That is comforting," she said, her voice quavering a bit.

Leliana went on, "It's a beautiful sentiment, I think—one that brings peace and hope to the grieving." Taking a deep breath, she began to sing. The song was lovely, although in the elven tongue, so only Zevran and Alistair, thanks to all his time spent with the kitchen workers, understood much of it.

Una took a look around at her companions. Leliana stared into the fire as she sang. Her voice was filled with emotion. Grenli lay down with a large doggy sigh after the first few notes, looking pensive. Was he missing the cook, Nan, who used to sneak him treats while complaining about him to all and sundry? Zevran's face was a mask, but Una could see that his jaw was clenched tightly, and wondered what emotions he was trying so hard to hide. Glancing over at Morrigan, Una saw the other woman shake her head, as if impatient—but with Leliana or herself? Did emotion ever factor into Morrigan's decisions? Did she ever feel the need for a real friend?

Transferring her gaze to Wynne, Una watched the play of feelings across the mage's face. With all her long life behind her, Wynne must have lost many people she cared about. Una was curious what Wynne would have done if, in her youth, she'd been faced with her life having a predetermined end date. Not given in to despair, Una was sure. Watching the strong lines of the older woman's face, now touched with a smile, now frowning, Una thought that Wynne would have determined to do as much with her thirty years as she could. Taking a deep breath, Una felt some of the tension leave her. With all these people looking to her for leadership, could she do any less? This was no time to wallow in self-pity.

Finally she turned her gaze on Alistair. As their eyes met, he looked away. It was hard to tell in the firelight, but he appeared to be blushing. What had he been thinking? She watched him for a few moments as he gazed thoughtfully into the fire, wishing that she could go and sit with him, have him put his arms around her and hold her. Or even better, that she could take him into her tent and close the flap and just lose herself in the comfort of his arms for a while. Now it was Una's turn to blush, and she was glad when Leliana finished singing.

"Thank you, my friend," she said. "That helped." She reached for Leliana, embracing her in a hug. It felt so good to lean on another person, even if only for a few seconds. How she had missed the warm relationship with her family! But she seemed to be building a new family here with her companions. With them at her side, maybe she could actually do all the things her country needed her to do.


	13. Answers

With the spell of the song broken, everyone began to turn in. They had outfitted themselves a bit at the little town at the edge of Lake Calenhad, so now there were tents for everyone. Una got up, her muscles aching, to begin her turn on watch. Then she jumped as a warm hand closed on her arm out of the darkness.

"Sorry," Alistair said. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay. I just can't believe I actually let you sneak up on me."

He looked thoughtful. "I don't know if that says more about how tired you are or how great my sneaking skills have become." Quirking an eyebrow, he grinned at her.

"Oh, definitely the first one," she said, but her eyes twinkled.

Alistair sighed in relief. It had worried him earlier when he couldn't get a smile out of her. "I wanted to tell you not to worry about your watch tonight. I'll take it for you."

"You don't have to do that. I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You're exhausted and you need rest. Also, I want to."

"Really?"

"It's the least I can do. You fought your way through countless demons to get us all out of the Fade, and you did it all by yourself. Without you … we'd all still be there, our life's essence slowly being drained from us. Like Niall." They both shuddered, thinking of the young apprentice whose life had been siphoned off of him to support the Sloth demon's realm. "I already owe you so much," Alistair said. "For being willing to take the lead, for pulling me out of the darkness after Ostagar, now for having the courage and determination to fight for all of us. You— I mean, I … You deserve a break," he finished, cursing himself for a coward. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but what if she didn't feel the same way? What if he made a complete fool of himself and things got all awkward and he couldn't talk to her any more?

"Thank you, Alistair," she said gratefully. This time he got the smile he'd been looking for. It wasn't the smile, the one that lit her whole face, but it was a start. He watched her as she ducked into her tent. Grenli moved in front of the flap, as usual, and lay down, watching the door. It was a sad and sorry thing to be jealous of a dog, Alistair reflected as he began his rounds.

But Una couldn't sleep. She lay staring into the dark, her mind racing. Finally she gave up. Sitting up, she lit a candle and dug a sheet of vellum from her pack.

_Dear Mother and Father,  
Words cannot begin to express the events of the last few days. We saved the Circle of Magi, which had been overrun by abominations. In the midst of it, we were enchanted by a Sloth demon and locked away in the Fade. Somehow I was the only one with the presence of mind to be aware of my surroundings, and I had to fight my way through so many different monsters and puzzles, shape-changing into various things along the way, in order to save my companions. I've never been so completely alone in my life. I am proud of how I did, but it was so hard. And I'm angry with the others for not being able to help me. And I feel horribly guilty because I am trying to keep you with me. Are you trapped in the Fade? Are these letters causing you to be tortured in some kind of demon realm because I can't let you go? I don't want that, much as I continue to love and miss you and depend on your counsel.  
Then, talking with Alistair tonight, I found out that Grey Wardens only live for thirty years after the Joining. It seems so short. But fifty years of life is about what you had. I'm sure you feel it was too short. Would you have liked to have known at my age that thirty more years would be all you had ahead of you? Would you have done anything differently? I know that thirty years can be a long time. I also know that I could fall in battle tomorrow. But I still feel that I am struggling with this. I liked thinking that the years stretched out before me in all their glory. And they still do … just not as limitlessly as I had thought.  
You'll notice there is no Alistair angst tonight. Partly this is because I have enough other angst to keep my mind occupied. Partly this is because things do seem to be going well. He gave me a rose he had been treasuring, and he called me "rare and wonderful". He's still confused and unsure, but I think we're getting there. Thanks to you, Mother!  
Please tell me if I need to stop writing, to let you go on to be with the Maker. I couldn't bear it if I thought I was causing you pain.  
All my love,  
Pup_

She sat for a moment staring at the paper, not sure if she truly wanted the answer this time. But she had to know. The idea of them in pain was too much for her to live with. Quietly, she untied the tent flap and slipped out. The fire was dying down. Grenli made a questioning noise, and she patted him on the head. He nosed her hand, sniffing the letter, and whined softly. "It's okay, Gren," she whispered. "Just getting some answers." He put his head back down on his paws as she moved over to the fire.

She held the paper over the fire, her hand trembling slightly, and hung onto it as it burnt, letting go only at the last second. For long minutes she stared into the dying flames, composing herself, listening. Finally she heard the soft voice of her mother. _My dearest girl. What a world and what a life in which to achieve adulthood. Your deepening thoughts and emotions fill us with pride. Her father's voice joined in. These are the moments when I wish your questions were as simple as how to win the heart of a young man, or, even better, how to slice through a darkspawn's neck. I found those a lot easier than this._ There was a pause. Then her mother spoke again. _Una, you bring us joy. It is our privilege to watch you as you make your way through the world, as you learn and grow and save those things that are important. You could never cause us pain. We are here for you as long as you need us._

Tears began seeping out of Una's closed eyes, rolling down her cheeks. The relief was nearly overwhelming. Her father's voice came again. _As for the thirty years, you have them in front of you, at your feet. Whether they are 'enough' is up to you, isn't it?_ She heard him sigh. _A century with your mother would not have been enough, and yet every day with her was gift enough for a lifetime. If I have sorrow for a life cut short, it is because I wanted more time with you and with Fergus. I don't know if I would have liked to know that the cloth of life was already measured and precut for me, but I think I would have taken it as a challenge to see that my thirty years held as much as anyone else's sixty. Or ninety. You are my girl, Pup. I think, in the long run, that will be your response also._

Una used the tail of her shirt to wipe her eyes, smiling. Her father was right, they were very alike. And what a romantic idea, that a lifetime with your love was only a moment, but each moment was a lifetime. She thought how the world narrowed to just the two of them when she was with Alistair. What would it be like if they were a couple?

Then a broad hand came down on the top of her head and tilted it back. Alistair was frowning down at her. "Do I have to put you to bed personally?" he growled. "You are supposed to be resting."

She grinned up at him wickedly. "I think those ideas are mutually exclusive, don't you?"

He thought about that for a moment, then blushed all the way up to his ears. "That was not what I meant," he said, hastily removing his hand from her head and stepping back.

Una stood up, noticing that he took another couple of steps back as she did so. She debated pushing the moment, but she was exhausted, and with her burning questions answered, she thought she could actually sleep. "Well," she said, sighing in mock disappointment. "If you're sure …"

He held the tent flap open for her. "In you go, woman. And don't come out until you've been to sleep."

"Yes, ser!"

As she ducked past him, she heard him say, "Pleasant dreams, Una."

"Oh, they will be," she said, her voice suggestive. "Trust me."

The tent flap was firmly closed behind her and she heard him muttering to himself as he walked away. Grenli made some sounds in his throat that Una suspected were laughter. Apparently Alistair got that, too. She heard him hiss something at the dog, who whimpered a little, but still sounded amused.

As she pulled the blanket over her, she thought about her parents, and her brother. Nothing had been heard of Fergus's patrol; Una assumed they were dead. With so much else to think about, she had put her grief over the loss of her brother out of her mind. She thought of dinner, that last night in the castle, trying to recreate the conversations in her head: her mother's pretended exasperation, her father's teasing, Fergus sneaking kisses from Oriana, Oren's piping little voice, Oriana's gentle smile. She missed them all so much. But as long as she had her memories, she hadn't really lost them. Not entirely. Sighing, Una closed her eyes, listening to Grenli's soft snores and the sound of Alistair patrolling the perimeter of the camp. And then she heard nothing else until morning.


	14. Alone

The next day they made it back to Redcliffe Castle, finding that the mages had already arrived. Apparently it was shorter to take a boat across Lake Calenhad than go around. Una wished someone had thought to mention that, and perhaps to offer her people a ride. They could have used the rest.

Preparations were made for the ritual, then everyone was banished from the chamber except the mages. Una took a look back at Wynne, lying down with a peaceful expression on her face, before the door closed.

It seemed to take forever, as Una paced back and forth before the door and Isolde knelt in a corner, murmuring ceaseless prayers. But eventually it was over. The demon had been defeated, Connor and Wynne were safe.

The mage and child were both resting and the rest of Una's crew were at work reoutfitting, refurbishing, and generally preparing for the next step on the journey when Bann Teagan and Arlessa Isolde called for Una to join them. She debated for a moment before asking Alistair to come along with her. Alistair's affection for the Arl and his family was likely to affect how the conversation went, but she couldn't deny him the chance to be part of it, at least.

They walked into the Arlessa's sitting room, where Una found herself at the receiving end of Isolde's fulsome expressions of gratitude. "Really, my lady," Una said. "Anyone else would have done the same."

Watching her, Alistair could see she meant it. She honestly thought most people would have gone so far out of their way to save an abomination. What an extraordinary woman, he thought, and how much he had grown to care for her. Suddenly he knew he couldn't go another day without telling her how he felt. If she didn't share those feelings, so be it—but he couldn't hide them any longer.

His decision made, he was able to return his attention to the conversation at hand. Bann Teagan was asking Una's opinion about what to do with the blood mage, Jowan, who had poisoned the Arl in the first place. Alistair knew exactly what he would do, but wasn't sure what Una's decision would be. He could tell she was uncomfortable with a man such as the Bann asking for her guidance, but then she took a deep breath and Alistair saw her golden eyes darken.

"Jowan knows the consequences of his deeds," she said. "He should be made to suffer them." Una took a deep breath. "He should be executed."

"Really?" The Bann seemed surprised.

"Justice must be served," Una said, and there was steel in her voice as she thought not of the blood mage but of Arl Howe. Isolde murmured her agreement in an equally harsh tone.

"Very well," said Bann Teagan. "Then I won't wait for Eamon to be healed. We will deal with the blood mage immediately." He looked at Una again. "There remains the question of how to heal Eamon."

"Is there no way other than finding the Urn of Sacred Ashes?" Una asked, hoping against hope. She knew where this conversation was going; she knew, especially with Alistair standing there, that she had no choice but to agree to go off on this wild goose chase … but she wasn't going to be sent off chasing a mythological curative without at least some protest.

"We've tried everything," Isolde said wearily. "Even the mages cannot help Eamon now. The ashes of Andraste are our only hope."

"And you are the only person who can find them," Teagan added.

They were strong shoulders, Alistair reflected. Strong, lovely shoulders. But could they hold all of this? Avenging her family, forming an army with a cobbled-together crew, resolving a civil war, stopping the Blight, and now finding a religious relic that had been lost for centuries, if it had ever existed at all. There had to be a limit to what one young person could handle.

"All right," Una said. "I'll do my best." If she sighed or felt that this was an impossible task she was signing up for, Alistair couldn't tell. Ferelden needed Arl Eamon in good health, after all.

Isolde spent a few minutes detailing to Una all the progress the knights had made toward finding the Urn. It turned out their best first step would be going to Denerim to find a man named Brother Genitivi, a scholar who might know something of the Urn's location. It wasn't much of a lead, but better than nothing, Una thought. Taking their leave of Teagan and Isolde, she and Alistair left the family quarters. As they walked down the hall, Una kept up a running stream of commentary—things they needed before heading out, whether it was better to head for Denerim next or go on to Orzammar—to try to keep from thinking what an impossibility she had just signed up for. She'd been so confident they could save the boy; she only wished she could feel equally confident about the father.

Alistair wasn't paying attention. His head was filled with what he would say to her, how he would get her alone in camp without anyone noticing … when he realized they were alone right now. Could he do this now? Swallowing hard, he thought he had to. The moment was here, he had to take it. Spying an open door to one of the guest rooms, Alistair put a hand on the small of Una's back, guiding her inside. Following her, he closed the door, leaning back against it.

Una cocked her head, looking at him quizzically, searching his face for some clue to what they were doing in there. She could still feel the touch of his hand on her back and her legs felt weak. Backing up, she sat down on the bed, crossing her legs and looking up at him expectantly.

Alistair's mouth went dry as she did so. She made such a lovely picture sitting there, all he wanted was to push her down on the bed and … He ran a hand over his face, trying to banish those images. He was having a hard enough time deciding what to say without completely overloading his brain that way. "So," he began, finally. "All this time we've spent together—you know, the tragedy, the brushes with death, the constant battles with the whole Blight looming over us …" He took a deep breath. "Will you miss it, once it's over?"

Una laughed, leaning back on her arms. "It makes me tear up just thinking about it."

Alistair laughed with her. "There'll be no more running for our lives. No more darkspawn." Then his face turned serious. He took a deep breath, then walked across the room, looking out the window. He couldn't look at her for this part, or he'd never be able to say it. "I know it might … sound strange, considering we haven't known each other for very long. But I've come to … care for you. A great deal."

Una's breath caught in her throat. All thoughts of anything happening outside this room had been wiped away. She stood up, trembling.

When she didn't say anything, he went on. "I think it's because we've gone through so much together. I don't know." His head dropped, and he continued, so softly she could barely hear him. "Or maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe I'm fooling myself." He felt her standing behind him and turned to face her. His eyes met hers. Barely able to breathe, he took the final plunge. "Am I? Fooling myself? Or do you think you might ever … feel the same way about me?"

Intoxicated by his nearness, by the sweet, hopeful expression in his eyes, Una wasn't sure she'd be able to speak. Finally she said, tremulously, "I think I already do."

He smiled, murmuring something that neither of them paid attention to. Their eyes held each other's as he took a step toward her, one hand, shaking a little, reaching out to cup the side of her face under the curtain of her honey-gold hair. She leaned into his caress, her eyes closing. His hand slid down to cup her jaw, gently pulling her closer, and then their lips met. Una gave a strangled gasp at the sheer sweetness of it. His kiss was hesitant at first. Then her hand curved around his neck, fingers stroking at the back of it.

Alistair groaned as the sensation overpowered him. His arm swept around her waist, pulling her up against him, and his tongue slid between her parted lips to find hers, hesitantly at first but with increasing boldness as she clung to him. They kissed for endless heady minutes, reveling in the feel of each other. At last he lifted his head, breathing heavily, and said the first thing that came into his mind. "That— That wasn't too soon, was it?"

Una's head was swimming. She held onto his shoulders to keep from falling, and tried to get her breathing back to normal. Which was difficult to do, as his hands were still moving restlessly over her back. "I don't know," she said at last. She saw his eyes shadow, and realized that he still wasn't entirely sure of himself. She pressed closer, feeling a tremor move through his body, and grinned at him. "I need more testing to be sure."

He grinned back. "I'll have to arrange that, won't I?"

"Please," she murmured, as his mouth covered hers again. All hesitancy had passed, and they kissed hungrily.

Finally they broke apart, both of them gasping for breath. Her eyes were wide and soft and had gone a vibrant shade of green. Alistair gazed at her in wonder. "Maker's breath, you're beautiful," he breathed. "I am a lucky man."

She blushed, looking away. No one had ever called her that before. Or looked at her that way.

"Now," he said, clearing his throat, "let's get back to … what we were up to before. Lest I forget why we're here."

Slowly they stepped away from each other, rearranging clothing, smoothing hair, and generally trying to look presentable. They weren't able to do much about their shining eyes or wide grins, though.

They joined the rest of the group, helping to get all the gear and supplies ready for the next journey. Finally, when the last bag was packed, they assembled in the great hall for dinner, sitting around the big table. Una filled them all in on the quest for the Urn of Sacred Ashes.

Morrigan was the first to speak. "So," she began sharply. "Where is it to be? Shall we head into the lion's den of Denerim, hunting for this … Brother Genitivi? Or do we turn our steps toward the halls of Orzammar, to win the dwarves' support?"

Una took a deep breath. "I think we need to help the Arl," she said, studiously not looking at Alistair. "We need his support against Teyrn Loghain if we're to be able to fight the Blight properly, and we need his troops, which cannot be pledged to us in his illness." She looked around the group, seeing various shades of agreement. At the very least, there was no actual argument forthcoming, not even from Morrigan. "On the way to Denerim, I think we can afford to take a day off and go to Soldier's Peak. We may learn something about the Grey Wardens, could pick up something—either knowledge or equipment—that can help us against the Blight, and if Soldier's Peak can be won back as a base for the Grey Wardens in Ferelden, so much the better." Again, no out-and-out disagreement. Una felt pretty good about that, actually—she was the youngest and arguably least experienced person in the room, but they accepted her leadership and trusted her reasoning. It might be a strange group of castoffs, but Una felt them all behind her like a brick wall. She felt the need to say so. Standing up, she took a deep breath, looking around at all of them.

Morrigan inclined her head when Una looked at her. Grenli leaned his furry body against Una's leg. "I just want to say how much it means to have you with me." Leliana smiled at her, and Wynne was nodding slowly, her expression serene. "With all of you behind me, I feel we could take on an army. In fact, we have, and we will again," she said, smiling ruefully. Zevran winked at her as her gaze rested on him. Finally, she looked at Alistair, whose eyes were warm on hers. "Thank you, all of you, for being willing to give up your own lives and pledge your immediate future to this cause and to me. I will never forget it." She considered adding something about the debt she owed them, but then her eye caught Morrigan's again, and she thought better of it. It seemed foolish to make blank promises that might come back later to haunt her.

"Now," she said. "Let's all try and get a decent night's sleep—in real beds for once," she added to cheers. "And then move out fresh and rested tomorrow."


	15. Lampposts

As everyone else scattered to their own rooms for the night, Una walked with Grenli to the kennels, her hand resting lightly on the top of the dog's head. He grinned happily as she saw him bedded down for the night. "Be ready for a long march tomorrow," she warned. He gave two short barks. "Yeah, we'll just see if you can march circles around me," she said affectionately. She handed him a bone and left the kennels, heading for her own bedroom.

Her thoughts were filled, not with the affairs of Ferelden, but with Alistair, the feel and scent and taste of him. So she wasn't surprised when he emerged from a doorway and fell into step beside her.

"Fancy meeting you here," he said.

"What were you doing, lurking there?"

"Lurking? I wasn't lurking," he said. "I was just … uh …" His mind was filled with her nearness, and he had to touch her. Reaching out, he stroked down her arm, taking her hand. "Una," he said, his voice raw.

Her mouth went dry and her tongue darted out to lick her lips. Spying an open door, she tugged him into the room, which turned out to be the library. The candles were sputtering low in their sconces, sending intriguing shadows through the room. Shutting the door behind them, he sank down into a big wing chair and pulled her onto his lap. Una gave a sigh of pure happiness, snuggling deeper into his arms. She'd been waiting for this for so long, it seemed. It was hard to believe she was finally here.

They stayed that way for a few moments. Then Alistair whispered, "Hey."

"Mm?"

"I wanted to say thank you."

She sat up, looking at him. "For what?"

"For what you did—saving Connor and Lady Isolde. You didn't have to."

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the memory of her nephew and sister-in-law. "Yes, I did."

"Not everyone would have thought so. I just— There's been so much death and suffering, it feels good to have been able to save something."

"I agree." After a few moments, she said reluctantly, "I should really be going—"

"I know." But neither of them moved. Alistair reached out, tucking her hair back behind her ear. His hand trailed slowly down her neck and over her back. He wondered what it would feel like to stroke her bare skin. He heard a moan, but whether it was hers or his, he didn't know. Then she was kissing him, and it didn't matter.

How long they stayed there, kissing, they didn't know. Neither of them tried to take it any further—it was still too new. Una didn't want to push things, and Alistair wasn't ready to go beyond this. Not yet. Slowly they became aware that the last candle had guttered out and they were in pitch darkness.

"I think that means we should be getting some sleep," she whispered against his ear, loving the shiver that went through him.

"Who needs sleep?" he growled, his arms tightening around her, pulling her closer. "Grey Wardens don't sleep that much, you know."

"We do if we want to be on our way bright and early," she said, chuckling affectionately. "Come on." She stood up. He made a small protesting sound, and Una grasped his hand, pulling him up with her. And then she kissed him again.

This time he was the one to break the kiss. "My leader's going to be very angry with me in the morning if I'm not well rested," he whispered.

"She must be a big meanie," she muttered back. "Who could be angry with you?"

They made it a few steps closer to the door this time.

At last they reached the door. "Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "I'm actually going this time." She pulled the door open. "Pleasant dreams, Alistair."

"Oh, they will be," he said, echoing her words of the other night, and the promise in his voice nearly made her turn around and go back for more. "Trust me."

The next day's march was uneventful. They made camp at the edge of Lake Calenhad, frying some fish that Zev had caught. After dinner, Leliana and Una sat together. Leliana regarded her sturdy leather boots with a wistful sigh. "How I miss nice shoes," she sighed. "Orlais is very fashionable—almost ridiculously so. But the shoes! Living with those ridiculous trends was worth it for the shoes."

"Oh, I love shoes!" Una exclaimed with unusual girlishness. Leliana began to describe a pair she had been eyeing before she left Val Royeaux, Una hanging on to every word.

Alistair, coming back from the lakeside with a pile of clean dishes, caught Zevran's eye. "Shoes?" he asked.

"Ah, our mysterious Grey Warden has a girlish side," Zevran lilted, looking intrigued. "It is so rare to see beneath the warrior to the woman. And what a woman it is," he breathed.

Alistair wanted to feed the elf his own teeth. But still—it was something he hadn't given much thought to. More than a warrior and a Grey Warden and a woman of incredible softness whose kisses drove him out of his head, she was a noblewoman. And despite her protestations of how awkward she had been considered to be, she must have had friends and loved pretty things and lived an entire life Alistair simply could not fathom. He began repacking the plates, wondering if he had any right to have feelings for someone whose whole life had been lived so far above anything he knew.

He was so abstracted, taking so much extra time with his task, that he didn't notice when things began to get quiet. Until a familiar hand stroked the back of his neck. Heat flooded the pit of his stomach.

"Those are some well-packed plates," she said, sitting down next to him.

"Any job worth doing," he said.

"I thought maybe we could take a walk," she said. "Er, check the perimeter?"

"It's not watch time quite yet, is it?"

"No, but it, um, never hurts to be too careful, does it?" She cleared her throat. Only then did he catch her meaning. Turning to look at her, he saw that she looked hesitant. Like she wasn't sure what his reaction would be.

Perhaps it was wrong of him, but he couldn't help himself. He couldn't be near her and not touch her. Standing, he took her hand as if to help her up. "I think that makes a lot of sense," he said, grinning at her. They walked slowly, side by side, around the open edge of the camp, trying not to hurry toward the comparative privacy of the trees.

From the camp, several pairs of eyes watched them speculatively. Only the mabari was completely sure what was going on. He heartily approved of Alistair and was glad to see his mistress so happy. The others had their suspicions. It had been hard from the beginning to miss the easy camaraderie between the two Grey Wardens, and the way each of them relaxed when the other was around. No one else was as wholeheartedly in support as the mabari, however.

"So, um, shoes?" Alistair said, after casting desperately about for something to say. He was already breathing heavily, just thinking about holding her.

Una laughed, but even in his distraction he heard the undercurrent in it. "Can you imagine? If I tried to put on something like Leliana was describing, I'd fall down within my first two steps. And look ridiculous in the process."

"But you sounded so enthusiastic," he said, genuinely confused.

"Oh, I was. I am," she said. "I love to look at those kinds of shoes, and I'd love to be able to wear them. But they look stupid on my big feet, and I can't walk in them, and I tower over everyone like a gawky giraffe even more than I do naturally." She tried to speak lightly, but there was bitterness there. "I don't know," she went on after a moment. "I just wish … I could be more like Leliana. You know, a good fighter but feminine, too."

They were entering a little copse of trees as she said it, and Alistair reached out, wrapping an arm around her waist. He pushed her up against one of the trees, feeling her softness and her curves pressed against him. She gasped. He lifted her chin with the fingertips of his other hand. "You," he said, his voice gravelly, "are extremely feminine. Trust me. And I like you just the way you are."

"Really?" she whispered in wonder.

"Really," he murmured in assent just before his mouth captured hers.

Una moaned. Her hands curved around the back of his head, threading through his hair, and her hips shifted restlessly under the pressure of his body against hers.

He brushed her hair back, his mouth leaving hers to trail down the side of her neck. The little sounds she was making in the back of her throat just fanned the flames rising in him.

"Alistair," she whispered.

"Hmm?" One hand wandered slowly down her side.

"Can I … ask you something?"

"Mmhmm." His mouth continued exploring the soft skin of her neck, nipping lightly.

"If you were … raised in the Chantry, have you never …?" Her hands explored his back, feeling the heat and the play of the muscles beneath his shirt.

"Never …? Never what?" he murmured teasingly into her ear, nibbling her earlobe. "Never had a good pair of shoes?" He chuckled.

Una had to laugh, too. "You know what I mean."

"I'm not sure I do," he said, his voice throaty. "Have I never seen a basilisk? Eaten jellied ham? Have I never licked a lamppost in winter?" He transferred his attentions to the other side of her neck while his fingers traced a pattern on the outside of her thigh.

"Now you're making fun of me," she said breathlessly, arching her neck to give him better access.

"Make fun of you, dear lady? Perish the thought," he murmured. He straightened, looking at her with one eyebrow raised. "Tell me. Have you ever licked a lamppost in winter?" He rolled the words off his tongue enticingly, flooding her brain with thoughts of what that would feel like against her skin.

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Yes," she admitted, blushing slightly. "I've licked a lamppost in winter."

"Just the once?" he said, grinning. "And you didn't lose half of your tongue in the process? I'm impressed." He shifted away from her, and she felt suddenly cold without his warmth. "I myself never had the pleasure," he went on more seriously. "Not that I haven't thought about it, of course … but, you know."

"You've never had the opportunity?" she supplied.

"Living in the Chantry is not exactly a life for rambunctious boys. They taught me to be a gentleman, especially in the presence of beautiful women such as yourself. That's not so bad, is it?" He looked into her eyes, and she could tell he was actually a little worried.

"Not at all," she murmured, smiling at him. Then what he'd said sunk in, and she asked, a little wistfully, "You think I'm beautiful?"

"Of course you are, and you know it," he said, mock-frowning at her. "You're ravishing and resourceful and all those other things you'd probably hurt me for not saying."

Serious now, she put her hands on either side of his head, looking into his eyes. "I would never hurt you, Alistair," she said.

"Nor I you," he said. He leaned his forehead against hers, and they stood there together for a long time.

Eventually, she had to begin her shift on guard. Letting go of her reluctantly, Alistair went back to his tent, still aglow. As he rolled himself up in his blankets, he couldn't help remembering the taste of her skin, the little sounds she made. He wondered what she felt like, what she looked like, underneath her clothes. But he didn't know if that was allowed. How far could he go? When would she stop him? So far she seemed more than okay with everything he'd tried … was he not going far enough? He tossed and turned, wishing there was some way to know what the rules were.

One thing he was sure of. Someday, when the Blight was over, he wanted to take her somewhere romantic, maybe Val Royeaux, or somewhere in Nevarra, and make love to her. When there was time for it to be perfect.

He fell asleep trying to imagine what it would be like.


	16. Cailan

The next day, they were cutting through the forest on their way through the Bannorn when they saw a nobleman being held at sword-point by several guards of some kind. Una signaled for the group to attack, but the guards stabbed the man in the belly before the team got in place. Wynne wasn't able to heal him, but he rallied long enough to explain to them that he'd been at King Cailan's side at Ostagar, had survived the battle, and had been held in a Bann's prison ever since. Before he perished, he told them the location of the key to the royal chest, which he believed was still on the battlefield, long abandoned to the darkspawn. When the nobleman gave his final shudder, Una stood up. Her eyes met Alistair's, seeing the anger and sorrow flash in his eyes. Wynne's eyes shone with a martial light, as well.

"We'll go," Una swore to the two veterans. "Now. And we will kill whatever is there to be killed."

Immediately, the group reversed direction, heading directly south toward Ostagar. Alistair was distracted, thinking about Duncan and the rest of the Grey Wardens, and quite probably about his half-brother, also. Una stayed near him, but didn't try to draw him out. He needed the space. She would have liked to be able to offer him comfort, but he didn't seem to be looking for any. She had the feeling nothing would be right for him until he got the chance to attack the darkspawn that were infesting the battlefield.

Una was distracted herself, hoping against hope to find some trace of Fergus, but hoping just as fervently to find no sign of him. She hadn't given up on the idea of finding her brother alive somewhere, although as time passed her optimism was fading.

It was late evening when they reached the vicinity of Ostagar. They made camp a fair way from the battlefield—with two Grey Wardens in the party, Una was nervous enough about attracting darkspawn attention without camping right in the midst of the horde. She doubled up the guards for the night, and made everyone share a tent. Except, as always, Morrigan. Wynne and Leliana shared amicably enough, and Una took Grenli in her tent, but she had to fix Alistair with her best "leader look" to get him to agree to share a tent with the elf. If she'd thought the proximity to both the battlefield and the darkspawn were going to allow Alistair to get any sleep at all, she'd have worried more about his attitude, but as it was, she didn't think sharing a tent with Zev would make much difference.

The next morning, a tense group of individuals met around the breakfast fire. Una decided to take Wynne, Alistair, and Leliana to the battlefield, and she asked Morrigan and Zev to keep the mabari in sight, in case he was able to sniff out any sign of Fergus.

As they hiked to the battlefield, there was unusual silence. Usually the four of them worked well together, but today the camaraderie was absent.

They arrived in the midst of the ruins. Una remembered looking up at them the first day, thinking of what a magnificent sight it must have been in its heyday. She was staring at the Tower of Ishal, thinking of how the darkspawn had flooded out onto the roof that last night, when she felt a strong hand at her wrist.

Turning, she found Alistair looking at her with an intense expression in his dark eyes. Una cocked her head. "What's on your mind?" she asked.

Wynne and Leliana had gone ahead a little bit, and were rummaging in a pile of rubble near the wall.

"Do you know where this is?" Alistair asked.

Una looked around. The snow covering everything made it hard to get her bearings, and she shook her head, wondering where this was going.

"I was standing right here the first time I saw you," he said.

"Oh." It was a mere breath. She recognized the spot now. And how could she forget that moment?

He shifted his grip so that he was holding her hand. "This is very hard," he said. "Being here, I mean."

"I know."

"That was the worst day of my life."

"I know that, too." She waited, not rushing him.

"But it also brought me you. And you … are the best thing that's ever happened to me."

She smiled at him, her free hand stroking the side of his face. "Same here, you know."

Alistair searched her face, looking for the joke, but there was none. Armor and all, he put his arms around her, leaning his head against her shoulder, feeling the warmth of her caring steal through him.

Holding him, Una wanted to say more, to make promises, to tell him she loved him, but something in her held the words back, whispering that it wasn't time yet. So she just held him until he was ready to let go and face what was to come.

After a few moments, he took a deep breath and she let him go. "Okay now?" she asked. Alistair nodded.

Una called for Wynne and Leliana, and they continued moving through what had been the camp, fighting the various darkspawn that kept popping up. One of them, some kind of darkspawn leader, had a piece of Cailan's armor. Alistair shuddered, looking at the gunk covering what had been a bright piece of armor. "It just seems wrong," he said angrily. "This was his."

Wynne reached out, taking him by the shoulder. "There is worse to come, Alistair," she said. "We must be prepared for it."

His jaw tightened. "I just wish I could have been there."

Una started to say something, then thought better of it and let Wynne speak instead. The mage had a special affection for Alistair, and their relationship clearly meant a lot to him, too. "The world is better because you weren't there. And I'm far from being the only one who thinks so."

Alistair seemed to accept that, if not to believe it. They continued through the camp. Una was struck by a wave of sadness when she saw the table that had been used in the Council of War tipped over onto its side, its edges splintered and cracked. This had been the last place she had seen King Cailan. She remembered his enthusiasm, his thirst for glory, his hero worship of the Grey Wardens. Alistair looked a fair amount like his half-brother, she thought, and the sense of humor appeared to be genetic as well, but there the resemblance stopped. Alistair had a much more realistic attitude toward warfare, and young as he was, seemed the more mature of the two. Cailan had been like a big puppy gamboling about on the battlefield. Alistair was more like a mabari, Una thought, although she wondered if either Alistair or Grenli would appreciate the comparison. Still, she thought with a sigh, Cailan hadn't deserved to die like that, abandoned on the battlefield by a general he trusted. She clenched her fists, hoping there would be the chance to repay Loghain for that black day.

They walked out onto the platform where the Joining ritual had been held. Alistair stood there, staring off into the distance, lost in thought. It seemed hard to believe that his only thoughts then had been how many of the recruits would survive. Maybe the fact that they'd lost two of three in the ritual should have been some kind of warning? he thought unhappily. His reverie was broken by Una's voice, calling his name. He turned to look at her. She was digging at a pile of snow, and as he watched, she stood up with the Joining chalice in her hands.

"I can't believe this survived," she said, staring at it. A shiver ran through her at the memory, and she turned to Alistair. "I think you should have this," she said. "For safekeeping, until we can rebuild after this Blight is over."

"No, you should hold onto it," he said. "You're the head of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden."

Una studied him for a moment, tilting her head to the side. "That may be," she said finally. "But you're the heart." He was surprised to hear both Wynne and Leliana murmur in agreement with her. She handed him the chalice, leaving him to process the idea. He'd never thought of it that way before, and he found it both comforting and intriguing.

They found the key and the royal chest. Then they went farther into the camp proper and found the remains of Duncan's fire. The darkspawn had destroyed almost every vestige of it.

Alistair stared at the remnants, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "His power must have taunted them," he said. "They must have felt the darkspawn blood on his hands. I'm glad." His face was stark and cold and vengeful. Everyone else stood with him in silence until he turned, ready to move on.

As they crossed the bridge toward the Tower of Ishal, Una moved ahead of the others. Wynne and Alistair were having one of their half-teasing half-affectionate conversations, and Leliana had dropped back to pick the lock on a chest. As a result, Una was alone when she neared the middle of the bridge. There was some … thing placed there. Una squinted at it, then her face blanched in horror.

It was the body of King Cailan. Displayed naked on some kind of frame. Una bit her lip to keep from crying out, and shot a stricken glance back at Alistair. With all her being, she wished she could protect him from this sight—but he would have to see. As he and Wynne drew closer, he looked up at Una. Whatever he was about to say was stilled on his lips when he saw her face, white and distressed.

"What is it?" he asked in concern, speeding up. And then he saw it. He didn't know whether to scream or cry or hit something.

"Let's … We have to get him down from there," Una said, fighting back her tears.

Alistair's brain stilled suddenly. All the overload from the sorrows and horrors of the battlefield cleared and he felt renewed purpose course through him. "No." Una looked at him, startled, and he went on. "If we take him down now, they'll see, and we'll be overwhelmed before we can care for him properly." He faced the still figure. "We will return, my King, when we have cleared this battlefield of the taint that overpowered you. And we will see you to the Maker as you deserve." He took Una's arm and led her away from the body. "Let's show these darkspawn that they can't mock the things we hold dear and expect to survive."

"Hear, hear," Wynne said quietly. The three of them followed him the rest of the way across the bridge and toward the Tower.

Alistair and Una both had trouble entering the Tower, remembering the last time they were there, the confidence they'd felt, battling their way through darkspawn to the top, then lighting the beacon, only to be overrun. But now they were chasing some kind of genlock wizard who was wearing the last piece of Cailan's armor. They couldn't stop now, so they moved forward, their weapons attacking their own ghosts as surely as they did the bodies of the darkspawn.

At last, they emerged from a tunnel below the Tower onto the battlefield. The genlock wizard gave Alistair exactly what he'd wanted—the genlock resurrected the ogre who had killed both Cailan and Duncan. Una caught Alistair's eye and nodded at him, and he looked as darkly enthusiastic as ever his brother had as he dashed forward to the attack. The four of them took down the ogre and the wizard, recovering Duncan's blades from the ogre's body. Alistair held the sword and dagger in his hands, staring at them as though some final word of Duncan's might be left in them.

At last, Una reminded him that darkness would be falling before too long, and they had to take care of Cailan before they left the field. Returning to himself with some difficulty, he stowed the blades reverently in his pack, and then together they went back to the Tower bridge. They took down the body of the King, placing it upon a pyre. They stood, lost in their own thoughts, watching the dead King's body until it was swallowed up by the flames.

Una and Alistair, standing on opposite sides of the pyre, had the same question run through their heads. With all the death and desolation facing the nation, how could two people find happiness with each other? Was that a mockery of all the pain and suffering, or a celebration of all that the people they'd lost had stood for?

Una, always a believer in love and in the future, thought the latter. Alistair, used to feeling that his happiness was unimportant at best, leaned toward the former. He was unable to meet her eyes, and he stuck close to Wynne's side on the way back to camp. Una had a fair idea of what was going on in his mind, but wasn't sure how to get him to come around.


	17. Grimoire

In camp, Una's first look was for Grenli. She met his doggy eyes hopefully, but he whimpered, his ears drooping. "Nothing, bud?" she asked. He shook his head. She reached down and ruffled his ears. "Look on the bright side, boy," she said. "If you couldn't find any sign of him, maybe that means he's still alive."

"Your brother?" Alistair asked. She turned around, not having noticed him coming up behind her.

"Yes. I had Grenli out sniffing around for a sign of him."

Alistair looked at her for a moment. "I forget, sometimes, that I'm not the only one who lost something out there."

"I know." The words were expressionless, containing neither forgiveness or condemnation.

They fell into step together, walking away from the camp. Grenli watched them go, his brow furrowed.

"Do you ever think," Alistair began, "maybe … it's not right?"

"What isn't right?" She knew perfectly well what he meant, but she was not going to let him get away without saying it out loud.

"To feel … you know."

She stopped walking, looking him in the eye. "Out with it. Don't beat around the bush."

He looked away. "So many people are dead. So much suffering, so much misery. Is it right to be—to care about each other, when there's so much else going on?"

Una sighed. "You want the practical answer, or what I feel in my heart?"

"Start with the practical," he said. He crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against a tree, staring off through the woods.

"Practically, then, we're on this quest together. And I don't know about you, but having started … what we've started, I'd have a heck of a time not continuing it." She smiled, but got no reaction. Ah, he was far gone, then, she thought. "Not convincing?" His shoulders hunched.

Una was determined not to let this happen. She walked up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder. He stiffened, but didn't move away. "Okay, then. The reason from my heart. Do you remember what I said, the day I told you what had happened to my family?" No answer. "I said that we have a responsibility to the people we've lost—that if we give up under the weight of our grief, then they will all have died for nothing. How do you think my parents would feel if I turned my back on happiness, just because they're dead? They'd be ashamed of me. I'd never get my mother to stop screaming in my head," she said, chuckling a little. Alistair made a sound that might have been a laugh. Una took that as a good sign. "I can't live like that, Alistair. I can't turn my back on life just because I'm surrounded by death. Quite the opposite, in fact. I celebrate the people I loved by moving forward. With hope for a better future. Both personally and for Ferelden." When there was still no response, she started to let him go.

Alistair caught her hands in his before she could slide away. Bringing one of her hands up to his mouth, he kissed her fingertips. "You never give up, do you? Everything you're asked to do, everything you've had to endure, you square your shoulders and move forward, doing the impossible through the sheer force of your determination not to back down." He sighed. "I wish I were more like you."

She held him tighter. "You are. And I'm not. I look back all the time, wondering if I have the strength to take the next step. And you know what I see?" He shook his head. "You, my shield, holding me up. If you weren't behind me, I'd fall more often than I'd like to admit. One way or another, no matter what we do personally … you and I are partners. I can't do this without you." Then she grinned, nuzzling the side of his neck, enjoying his quick intake of breath. "And I have to say, it'll be a lot more fun this way."

His hands were warm on hers, gripping her fingers tightly. But he didn't say anything.

"So," Una said, her lips moving softly over his skin, "are we okay now?" She licked the back of his neck delicately with the tip of her tongue, feeling the shudder that went through him.

He turned in the circle of her arms, one hand brushing her hair back from her face. "You're quite good at getting people to see things your way, aren't you?"

She laughed. "I don't like to lose. Especially not something as important as this."

Alistair hugged her tightly. "My heart knows you're right," he said. "But my head is still overwhelmed by everything we saw today. Can we give it some time to catch up?"

Una stepped back from him. "Of course. You know where to find me." He smiled at her in gratitude as she turned to walk back to the camp, praying to the Maker that she was doing the right thing.

She didn't have long to focus on her worry, though. As she paced the perimeter of the camp, Morrigan stepped from the trees, clutching the grimoire. "May we speak?"

"Sure."

"I have been studying Mother's grimoire," Morrigan said, falling into step with Una.

"Interesting?"

"Highly. It is not what I expected, however." At Una's questioningly raised eyebrow, Morrigan went on, "I had hoped this would be a compilation of Flemeth's spells. Instead, it is something quite different altogether."

"You look disturbed."

"An excellent choice of word. You see, this book contains the secret to Flemeth's immortality."

"Let me guess," Una said. "She eats babies."

"If only it were that innocuous!" Morrigan exclaimed. "But no. As it turns out, Flemeth has had many daughters. As her body ages, she takes over the body of her daughter. Just like stepping into a new dress." She shivered.

Una immediately grasped the implications. "If that's the case, why would she risk sending you with me?"

Morrigan shrugged. "I know not. Perhaps she was telling the truth—that the Blight threatens her as much as it threatens everyone else. The book also says that it is easier for her to take on the new body if the host is fully trained in magic. Perhaps this little trip is meant to expand my skills quickly."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"What else is there to do? If I am to survive, Flemeth will have to be killed."

Una stopped walking, staring at Morrigan. "Kill Flemeth? Kill the Witch of the Wilds?"

"It is the only choice." Morrigan, looking more visibly uncomfortable than Una had ever seen her, turned her eyes away under Una's scrutiny. "I am afraid I am going to have to ask for your help."

"Me? Why my help?"

"Because if I am near when Flemeth dies, her spirit will simply take over my body. It must be done when I am not present." Morrigan swallowed, looking up at Una. "Will you do it?"

Una looked at the beseeching face of the mage, then away into the trees. At last she sighed. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," Morrigan said, as usual uncomfortable with the words. "Also, I will need Mother's true grimoire, which you should be able to find in her hut when it is … done."

"All right." Una turned wearily away from the mage, who had the good sense not to follow.

She paced back and forth, her brain busy, not even noticing the passing of time until the voice spoke from the darkness. "You were supposed to wake me when it was my turn on watch."

"I'm sorry," Una said distractedly. "I didn't even realize it was time for that."

"Here I thought you were mad at me." Alistair looked at her bashfully.

"Hm? Oh. No, not mad. I was … I need to talk to you."

"Er, when I said I needed time I meant more than a few hours."

"Yes. Got it. This is something else." Una looked over toward Morrigan's fire. The mage was rolled in her blankets, appearing to be asleep. But it was hard to tell with her. Sighing, Una decided she just had to chance it. "I had an interesting conversation with Morrigan earlier."

Alistair bristled at the very name. "I'll take your word for it."

Una let that one go. "Morrigan has been studying Flemeth's grimoire. The black book from the Tower?" she reminded Alistair when he gave her a blank look. He nodded. Una leaned back against a tree, speaking as quietly as she could. You never knew exactly where Morrigan might be lurking, even if she seemed peacefully asleep. "Apparently, there's only one thing of great interest in it."

"I don't buy that for a moment. I don't see why you gave her that thing in the first place." Alistair leaned back also, and Una tried not to pay attention to his shoulder brushing hers.

"Your objection has been noted," Una said wearily. "The point being … Morrigan claims that the most interesting thing in the black grimoire is an explanation of how Flemeth prolongs her life."

"She eats babies?"

Una poked him in the side with her elbow. "That's what I said!" She grinned at him, then sobered. "But apparently not. It seems that when Flemeth's body ages, she takes over the body of one of her many daughters. A highly trained mage daughter," Una added when Alistair didn't get the point immediately.

"Ohhh," Alistair said. "I can see why Morrigan would be upset."

"Exactly. So guess what she wants us to do."

"Kill Flemeth before she can gobble up another daughter?"

"Yup. That appears to be the plan."

"Have we agreed to this?" Alistair crossed his arms, looking disapproving.

"We've said we'll see what we can do."

"Why?"

Una sighed, banging her forehead against his shoulder. She'd just been thinking how nice it was that she could trust Alistair enough to talk strategy with him, and what a relief it was to know him so well that she could predict his reactions. But of course, she had forgotten his absolute hatred for Morrigan.

"Ow!" he said. "Will you stop that?"

"You make my head hurt."

"What can I say? I have firmly muscled shoulders." He looked smug.

"I'll say you do," she murmured suggestively, making him blush.

"Okay, your earlier point is well taken," he said, quirking an eyebrow at her. "You know, the one about it being difficult to … not do what we were doing before?"

Una pushed herself away from the tree. "Oh, no, you don't," she said. "You're not getting out of this conversation by being all cute and Alistair-like."

He grinned at her. "Exactly how do I go about being not 'Alistair-like'?"

"Work on it. Or think faster." Una looked back over at Morrigan's fire. The mage rolled over in her sleep. "Anyway, I think it's worth considering what Morrigan wants us to do."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but don't we owe Flemeth our lives? Shouldn't we, I don't know, display some loyalty?"

"I thought of that, too. On the other hand, Morrigan is part of our team." Alistair muttered something, but Una ignored him. "Perhaps we owe her something as well. You know, like the chance to not be sucked out of her own body to make room for a centuries-old abomination?"

"Actually, that sounds like fun. I'll bring the popcorn."

"Alistair, can you be serious for a minute?"

"I was."

Una sighed, rubbing her temples. "I should be having this conversation with Grenli. It would go better."

"You didn't really expect that I would trust anything Morrigan has to say, did you?"

"I had kind of hoped all this time when she's fought at our sides would have entitled her to a certain amount of consideration, yes," Una said severely. "At any rate, I think we need to at least investigate the situation. We'll take a team tomorrow. I'm thinking you, Gren, and Zev." At his questioning look, she shrugged. "All three of you have a certain moral … casualness that is not exactly shared by Leliana or Wynne. And obviously, we can't take Morrigan, no matter what we decide."

"I have a moral casualness?"

"When it comes to Morrigan, you do."

"You've got me there."

Una sighed. "So we go, we keep our options open, we allow Flemeth to make her case. Or we kill her."

"You say that very lightly. People have tried to kill the Witch of the Wilds before, you know."

"People have tried to find the Urn of Sacred Ashes before, too." Una shrugged.

"All right, good point, six impossible things before breakfast. But why tomorrow?"

"Because we're right here in the Wilds, and once we get out of here, I don't want to have to come back."

"Well, then," Alistair said, straightening up. "Clearly some of us need to get a good night's sleep, and others of us need to get to our patrol. Pleasant dreams, Una."

"They will be. Trust me," she purred.

"That is not fair."


	18. Elders

And so the next morning, they went. Making their way through the Korcari Wilds, they came to the little hut that haunted Alistair's nightmares. Flemeth was waiting for them, looking as though she hadn't moved since they left.

"So," she said. "Lovely Morrigan has finally found someone willing to dance to her tune. What pictures has she painted for you?"

Una stood her ground, looking at the older woman calmly. "I am here to talk. For the moment."

"Will you play your own tune, then?" Flemeth asked.

"I want to know the truth."

"Do you? Do you really? The lie can be so much more fun." When Una looked at her severely, Flemeth just laughed. "But it is an old, old tale. Even Flemeth has told it, a time or two."

"How does it end this time?" Una asked.

"Perhaps like this: Morrigan wants my grimoire? Take it. Tell her I am slain."

"And you?"

"Disappear. Perhaps I visit Morrigan again … perhaps I merely watch. It would be interesting indeed to see what she does with her freedom."

"What do I get out of this?"

"You get to keep her." Flemeth's voice hardened. "And make no mistake—the time will come when you will want her." She looked at Alistair, then back at Una, and a small smile glimmered in her eyes. "Even he will … want her."

Alistair's lip curled. "Do you want to explain that remark?" he asked.

Flemeth laughed. "Now where would be the fun in that?" But the laughter didn't reach her eyes. "Do we have an agreement?"

Una studied the older woman, weighing the options carefully. Something told her that doing battle with Flemeth was a far more daunting task than it seemed, and there was still a Blight left to fight. "We do."

"Excellent. The grimoire is in the chest in my hut." Flemeth waited while they went into the hut and got the grimoire and then came back out. "Best of luck on your way, Wardens. I can guarantee that we will not meet again."

Una crossed her arm over her chest, bowing slightly. Flemeth inclined her head. Then Una's team headed back through the Wilds, toward camp. "Zev," Una shot over her shoulder.

"My lady?"

"You're aware that as far as Morrigan is concerned, Flemeth is dead?"

"Ah. Of course."

"I would be willing to believe it won't be the first time you've reported someone dead who is actually living."

She could hear the grin in Zev's voice. "The beautiful Warden presumes a tender heart which may or may not exist."

"But you will do it?" Una asked impatiently.

"Flemeth is dead, of course," he said in mock innocence. "What other choice would there have been?"

They paused to mess up their armor, cutting some scratches on themselves and generally trying to make it look like they'd been in a battle. Where were the darkspawn when you needed them? Una thought in annoyance. She was glad she had suggested that the other three women pack up the camp and start ahead, letting the rest of the team catch up. It would take longer to reach them and hopefully offer more chances at battle before they met up with Morrigan.

Right around midafternoon they caught up with the others, just outside of what had once been Lothering. There had been two or three small groups of darkspawn to fight on the way, so they looked even more bloodied and embattled than Una had hoped. As they came up to the three women, a group of darkspawn stepped out of the woods. The whole group entered battle. It was hard-fought, and by the time they took the last one out, they were all exhausted. They looted the bodies and started out of the area. Everyone was moving slowly.

Suddenly, Wynne crumpled to the ground. Una ran back, helping the mage up. Wynne put a hand up to her head.

"Oh, my," she said. "For a moment there, I thought it was all … over."

"What was all over?" Una asked, concern sharpening her voice.

"Everything." Wynne put a hand out, touching Una's arm. "I will explain later, when we are back in camp."

"Are you all right?"

"Later," Wynne said, gently but firmly.

Una gave the older woman a sharp look, but accepted that she wasn't going to get anything more out of her for the moment. They moved on with the others, looking for a relatively safe place to camp.

Once camp had been set up, Una removed Flemeth's grimoire from her pack, walking toward Morrigan's fire. The mage looked up as Una approached, a searching look that contained both surprise and pleasure on her face. "Is it done then?"

Una held up the book wordlessly. Morrigan took it carefully into her arms. "Mother's true grimoire! The secrets that must be contained within …" she murmured, opening the book and leafing through a few pages. She seemed to have forgotten Una's presence. When she did remember it, Morrigan slammed the book shut, looking at Una suspiciously. "I will study this carefully. Perhaps it holds secrets that will be useful against the Archdemon," Morrigan said.

"Let me know if you find anything," Una said.

Morrigan nodded dismissively, glaring at Una as she hunched protectively over the book. Then, as Una was walking away, she heard the mage call to her. "Una?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For this." She held up the book. "I will not forget that you have done this for me. You are … most generous with your assistance."

"You're welcome," Una said, resuming her steps and praying to the Maker that she didn't come to rue the events of this day.

Returning to the fire, Una accepted the plate of stew Leliana handed to her. At Alistair's questioning look, she shrugged. Then she sank down in the open space next to Zev, watching her companions as they ate. Grenli was gnawing happily at a bone. Dear Grenli, Una thought with a sigh. Thank the Maker for that dog—at least she had one completely uncomplicated traveling companion who never asked her to do impossible tasks. Morrigan, at her own fire, was deeply engrossed in the grimoire, a thought that didn't entirely make Una comfortable. But at least the mage was happy, she thought. Zev seemed focused entirely on his dinner, making small jokes and gallant comments. Most of these were aimed at Leliana, Una noted with interest. Occasionally he'd toss innuendos at Una, but that seemed more to annoy Alistair—which they did quite nicely, she thought with satisfaction—than out of any great attraction toward Una.

Leliana seemed unusually distracted. She dropped her plate twice, to Grenli's great appreciation, and kept trying to catch Una's eye. Then, when she did, she'd fidget and look away. Una wondered what was on her friend's mind. She suspected she'd find out sooner or later … hopefully before Grenli ate all Leliana's stew. Smiling to herself, she glanced over at Alistair. He wasn't eating, but rather staring at her, and the naked hunger she saw on his face before he looked away sent butterflies through Una's stomach. Her hands started trembling, and she dropped her own plate.

Grenli dashed over to her side. Zev, next to her, quirked up the side of his mouth in a smirk. "I would love to know what the dog has done to deserve you lovely ladies continually dropping your food at his feet."

"Unconditional love, Zev," Una said, retrieving her plate—although sadly not her dinner—from the ground. The elf made a snorting sound, but looked somewhat uncomfortable. Una felt she may have scored a hit there—hopefully one that would allow Zev to move forward toward Leliana. Una liked the idea of the two of them together.

As she stood up, she met Wynne's eyes. The mage looked more tired than any of them, but Una caught the speculation in her face as she looked from Alistair to Una with something akin to a frown. Una frowned also, thinking that it looked like she was in for some kind of lecture. Great. As if Alistair himself wasn't enough challenge.

Leliana had disappeared off into the trees, and Una decided to follow her. But only a few steps outside the circle of light cast by the campfire, Wynne caught up to her.

"Una."

"Yes, Wynne?" Una winced, waiting for what she was sure wasn't going to be a fun conversation.

Wynne measured her words carefully, then said, "You seem quite taken with each other."

"You know about Alistair and me?" Of course she knew. All of them knew. How could they not? But Una didn't want to leave too big an opening. Maybe there would be less lecturing if she was a bit cagy.

"It would be difficult to miss the doe-eyed looks he's always giving you when he thinks no one is watching." Wynne snorted. "It's almost too sweet for me, and I'm an old lady who should be making fuzzy slippers and little blankets with a heart motif."

Una had to smile at the image. "You're not a typical old lady."

Wynne smiled, as well. "No, I'm not going to be knitting you scarves with little pom-poms. But I did want to ask where you see your relationship going."

"We're just taking it one day at a time."

"I wonder if you have quite thought through the ramifications. You are both Grey Wardens, and he is the son of a king. You have responsibilities that exceed your feelings for each other."

"I can handle my responsibilities and my relationships," Una said, crossing her arms and straightening to her full height as she looked down at the mage. She knew she sounded prickly, but honestly!

"Alistair is a fine young man, skilled in battle," Wynne said with an almost maternal pride, "but inexperienced in the ways of love. I would not want to see him hurt."

"You think I would hurt Alistair?"

"You know you are quite likely to have to choose between saving your love and saving everyone else. Do you want to have to make that choice?" When Una didn't reply, Wynne sighed and went on. "Love is ultimately selfish, requiring one to put a single person above everything."

Una put her hands up to her temples. She should have known conversations like these would be coming, but she did wish she and Alistair could have gotten a bit farther along in their relationship—like being sure they had one—before she had to start justifying it. "You talk," she said at last, "as though I'm the only one who loves Alistair. You're not the only one who has seen people looking at each other, you know. I know who gets healed first in battle, who gets the heroic auras. He's the grandchild you will never have." Wynne had the grace to look somewhat abashed. "And he returns your affection. Far more whole-heartedly than he is ready to return mine," Una said, a trace of bitterness coloring her voice.

"Hm. I suppose that makes sense—there is more danger in yours." Una shot her a look, but Wynne held up her hand. "There is more future, more decisions, more … commitment between the two of you. More uncertainty. He does not have to wonder about my regard."

"True," Una said. She sighed. "Wynne, I don't know what the future holds. But if I were still Lady Cousland and he were a random Grey Warden who had come to the castle I would feel the same way toward him, and I still wouldn't know what the future would hold."

"You truly think you would feel the same?"

"Wynne, I've been in love with him since the first day I met him. Before Ostagar, before I knew he was Maric's son, before … any of this. I hadn't known him for an hour before I knew he was the man I'd always wanted." Una shrugged. "I don't even know for sure if I believe in destiny, but I think Alistair and I are meant for each other. And I think trying to be on this quest and not be together would be more distracting and more dangerous for the task at hand than admitting our feelings could be."

Wynne studied the girl in front of her. "You are very decisive," she said. "And very sure of yourself."

"I have to be. Look at all the people depending on my decisions! Not just all of you, but all of Ferelden. Fortunately, I've always been very good at knowing my own mind. My mother used to despair of me entirely—once I made up my mind, there was little changing me." She looked at the ground, biting her lip. "I hope I've done some work on that last part in recent months." Meeting Wynne's eyes, she continued, "That's where Alistair has been good for me—helping me see other sides of the issues, helping me be able to admit when I'm wrong. Sometimes." Una grinned. "In the long run, I think the benefits we both gain from being together will outweigh the pitfalls."

"I suppose nothing I can say will convince you to take a few steps back?"

"Trust me, this whole thing is moving about as slowly as it can go," Una said. "I will keep your comments in mind, but I can't promise to stop feeling what I feel."

"Fair enough," said Wynne. "Are you returning to camp?"

Una shook her head. "I'm going to go looking for Leliana. She seemed upset this evening."

"I'll say good-night, then."

"Good-night, Wynne."


	19. Conversation

Una watched Wynne head back toward the campsite, then turned in the direction Leliana had gone. This would be a great night for a darkspawn attack, she thought, with half the group out wandering the forest.

After some searching, she came upon Leliana, sitting on a fallen tree. The bard looked up as Una approached her. "I had hoped you would find me."

"You had something on your mind at dinner. Do you want to tell me what's going on?"

Leliana took a deep breath. "I lied to you," she said. "About why I came to Ferelden."

"If I remember right," Una said, "you didn't actually tell me why you came to Ferelden. So you can't have lied." She smiled at her friend.

"That is a charitable way of looking at it," Leliana said in relief.

Una sat down next to the bard. "Let's start with this, then. 'Leliana, how did you first come to Ferelden?'"

Now Leliana looked nervous again. "I … was being hunted."

"Hunted? Were you in some kind of trouble?"

"Let me start from the beginning." Leliana looked up at the sky, searching for the right words. "In Orlais, I was a bard. A spy. My bardmaster was a woman named Marjolaine. She was my friend, she had trained me, and I loved her." Una's eyebrow quirked, but she said nothing. "One day, I was sent by Marjolaine to kill a man. It was a simple task. When it was done, I took some papers off his body." Leliana paused.

"I take it these were important papers?"

"It turned out that they were. They were treasonous. I opened them up, and when I saw what they were, I grew concerned. I went back to Marjolaine to tell her that I was worried for her, that she was involved in dangerous activities and she should be careful." The pain was obvious in Leliana's voice as she went on. "She told me not to worry, that it would all be taken care of. And I believed her!" A tear slid down Leliana's cheek, followed by another and then another. "Until they came for me."

"Who's they?" Una put her arm around her friend's shoulder.

"The Orlesian guards. They …" she gave a strangled sob, "tortured me. Horribly. I learned that Marjolaine had altered the papers and put my name on them. I felt so betrayed!" Leliana hid her face in Una's shoulder, crying. Una held her friend until her tears stopped. Leliana swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Fortunately, my bard skills came in handy in prison. I was able to escape, and I ran for my life, across the border and into Ferelden. Eventually I came to Lothering. I took shelter in the Chantry, and felt so comfortable there that I never wanted to leave. Until I had that dream, and I knew I must go with you."

Una squeezed Leliana's shoulders tightly. "And I am glad that you did. We'd all be starving without you," she teased. Then, looking intently into her friend's face, she said, "Thank you for trusting me with this."

"It feels good to be able to talk about this with you. You are a true friend," Leliana said. "Thank you."

"Will you be all right?"

"Yes. I am glad that there are no more secrets between us," Leliana said. Una stood up, resting her hand on Leliana's shoulder for a minute.

"It appears to be time for me to start my watch," Una said. "Will you be able to sleep?" Leliana nodded. "Good-night, then, my friend."

Una headed back toward camp, slowly, circling around the clearing with the campfires. She had made it about two-thirds of the way around the circle when she saw a shadow leaning against a tree trunk. "You should be more careful," she said sternly. "You almost got a giant maul to the head."

"Must you wield that thing? I'd just gotten used to the greatsword."

Una shrugged. She'd picked up the maul in Ostagar, and thought it would be a nice change of pace. "I like it. Who doesn't want to smash things with a giant hammer?"

"You know, that's one of the things I like about you," Alistair said. Had Una imagined it, or had he hesitated before choosing the word "like"? Holy Maker, she thought, imagining what it would be like if he actually said he loved her. After a pause he said, almost petulantly, "I didn't get my turn."

"Your turn?"

"With you. You know, how you go around to everyone and talk to them? I didn't get mine."

"You said you needed time." Una kept her voice as expressionless as possible.

"Yes, but I didn't mean for you to ignore me."

Definitely a bit petulant, she thought with a grin. She was sorry she couldn't see his face in the darkness. "It wasn't intentional. I had an unexpected lecture from Wynne and a long talk with Leliana that ran into my watch time. I thought you'd have gone to sleep."

"In that case, I suppose I'll forgive you."

"Generous of you."

"It is, isn't it?"

She sighed, leaning against the tree next to him. Someday, she thought, it would be nice to actually sit down and be able to talk to each other in a room. Like normal people. "Then here's your turn: Why did you wait so long before telling me about your parentage?"

"That was not the conversation I intended to have," he said, taken aback.

"Then next time you can start. You wanted me to, so there's your question. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"You … never asked?"

"Fine. Don't answer, then," she snapped, suddenly irritated with him. It had been a very long night after a long day, and she'd had enough verbal fencing. She pushed away from the tree and started to walk away.

"All right, all right, I'll tell you," Alistair said, a hint of desperation in his voice. She noticed that he didn't try to stop her physically, though. "I didn't tell you before the battle because … I was used to not telling anyone who didn't already know. Even Duncan was the only Grey Warden who knew." He sighed. "Then after the battle, when I should have told you—it wasn't exactly the most important thing on my mind." The pain in his voice was as fresh as it had been that first day. She put a hand on his arm, murmuring something comforting. "And after that … I kind of liked you not knowing."

"Why? What would have changed?"

"People always change once they know." She could hear a lifetime of bitterness behind the words. "They begin to think of me differently. And I wanted you to like me for who I am. Not for my bloodline."

"Alistair!" she said. "I do like you for who you are. Have you noticed a change in me since you told me?"

"You didn't seem to … um, be interested in me before I told you. You didn't kiss me until after."

Oh, he had to be joking. "No," she corrected, "you didn't kiss me until after." She wished again that she could see his face in the darkness. She put both hands on his shoulders, looking at him intently. "There wasn't a lot of opportunity before that, you know. With the battle, and then you were all depressed, and … Let's get one thing completely straight. Since apparently you never noticed. I'd have kissed you in the Wilds, right in front of Daveth and Jory, if I'd thought I could have gotten away with it without you running away." She smiled. "For the love of Andraste, you complete idiot, I'd have kissed you right in front of that pompous mage the first time I met you. Before I knew you were anything other than some random Grey Warden."

"Really?" She could tell by his tone that the defenses were still up, though, so she waited for the inevitable remark. "Do you run around feeling the need to kiss people you've just met, then?"

"I wouldn't have kissed Jory, that's for sure," she said, grinning. "Daveth, though …" She let her voice trail off teasingly. When he didn't say anything, she said more seriously, "Alistair, your blood may complicate the future, but it's only one of many potential complications. And it doesn't change who you are. My friend, my partner, my shield."

And then his arms were around her, his face buried in her hair. Una held him for a long moment as he clung to her. As his grip began to ease, she whispered in his ear, "So how's the head doing? Any progress?"

He groaned, holding her tightly to him, his hands sliding down her back. "Not touching you has driven me completely out of my head," he whispered raggedly.

"Hm," she murmured against his neck. "Is that a good thing?" She slid her hands under his wool shirt, feeling the smooth skin over the ridges of his muscles.

She felt his breath catch. "Depends on your definition?"

"Does it mean I get more kisses?" She licked his ear, then bit lightly at his neck.

Alistair gave a strangled moan. He pulled her closer, and his mouth sought hers. All the hunger she'd seen on his face before was in his kiss, as his tongue plundered her mouth. She held on to him for dear life, afraid her legs wouldn't hold her up. Then he turned her around, pushing her up against the tree. His hands moved under her shirt, burning across the bare skin of her stomach. She tore her mouth away from his, gasping for breath.

His mouth explored the side of her neck, and his hands hesitantly up over her ribcage, coming to rest just at the bottom of her breastband, not quite touching her breasts. Una held her breath, but Alistair was utterly still, his breathing heavy against her neck.

"Don't stop. Please," she gasped.

He drew back, looking at her. "Are you sure?"

"Please," she said again. His eyes were heavy-lidded and he didn't look away as he moved his hands farther up, cupping her breasts through the breastband.

She moaned, leaning her head back against the tree. He kept his eyes on her, her reactions electrifying him as his exploring fingers slid under the fabric and found her nipples, teasing them to aching points. One of her legs wrapped around the back of his thigh as she pushed her hips forward against his hardness.

"Oh, Maker," Alistair gasped, feeling her warmth pressing against him, driving him wild. His mouth found hers again, desperate with his rising need, as his pelvis ground against hers. Somewhere not far from them, a twig snapped. Both of them froze, dimly through the haze of passion surrounding them aware of the camp, the darkspawn, the Blight. Slowly they drew apart.

"I, um, think it's my watch," he said after a moment, his breathing still labored.

"I guess I'll … go to sleep then," she said, just as breathlessly. "If I can."

She could still feel the throbbing in the pit of her stomach as she went slowly back to her tent. If he didn't decide he was ready to move forward soon, she reflected, he wouldn't be the only one going out of his head.

Alistair went on his watch a bit unsteadily. It took every ounce of discipline he could muster to keep from following her back into camp, slipping into her tent, and finishing what they'd started. His mouth went dry at the very idea, but … a tent? For their first time together? He wanted it to be special, perfect. Roses, maybe, at the very least sheets and a real bed. But there was no longer any question of waiting for the end of the Blight. He came undone too easily at her touch—and vice versa, amazingly. He still wasn't sure what she saw in him. Not that he was complaining, exactly, but he did feel conflicted, part of him waiting for—expecting—all this to end as magically as it had begun, part of him worrying that it was wrong to be this happy in the midst of so much misery.


	20. Marjolaine

After a long, frustrated night for both Alistair and Una, the morning dawned cool and rainy. They were following the track of a small creek going north when suddenly they were ambushed from the trees, and found themselves in the midst of a fight. They battled their way through a few mercenaries, a wolf, and a mage of some kind. The last fighter was almost down when suddenly Leliana held up her hand. "Stop! Don't kill him!"

Una had her maul poised above her head, ready to smash down on the man. The effort of halting in mid-blow unbalanced her and she nearly fell over. "What?! Why?"

"These are no ordinary mercenaries," Leliana said, and for the first time Una could see the dangerous look of the spy and assassin in the eyes of her friend, the Chantry sister. "Their weapons and armor are of good quality." She looked at the fallen man. "You know what I'm talking about, don't you? Why are you here?"

The man got to his feet with some difficulty. "All I know is they told me to kill the little red-haired girl," he said, coughing.

"The little—" Leliana broke off. "Are you here to kill me?"

Una crossed her arms over her chest, standing to her full height, towering over the rather short assassin. Occasionally she really enjoyed her height—times like now, when the man cringed away from her. "Look, if I tell you what little I know …" He looked up wheedlingly.

"Your information for your life," Una said. "And be glad for it."

He handed her a piece of paper. "This is the address of the place in Denerim where I was supposed to go for my pay. It's all I know."

Una looked at Leliana. "I think we should just kill him."

"No," said her friend firmly. "He's told us what he knows." She looked at the assassin. "Never come near me again."

"I don't take kindly to people who try to kill my friends," Una said. "Next time, I won't stay my hand."

He bowed and nodded and then scuttled off into the forest as fast as his wounds would let him.

"Let's keep moving," Una signaled the others. She and Leliana fell into step at the back of the group. "What do you think?" she asked.

"It's Marjolaine. It has to be."

"But why now? Why would she suddenly come after you after leaving you alone for so long?"

"I don't know. When we're in Denerim, I'd like to go to this address and see what there is to see."

Una nodded. "We will. I won't have this hanging over your head if we can possibly put a stop to it."

Eventually they arrived in Denerim proper. It brought back a lot of memories for Una. The last time she'd been in the Market District she'd been with her father. She remembered the way he'd slung his arm over her shoulders as they strolled the stalls, skipping over all the fripperies and going straight to the armorers. "Your mother would be disappointed in us," he'd murmured. "I'm supposed to be encouraging you to be more feminine."

"Consider me encouraged," she'd grinned at him. "Do you see that chainmail?"

He had thrown back his head and laughed, and they had gone on to buy a whole new set of mail.

Una sniffed a bit. Wynne, who was walking closest to her, stopped and turned around. "Are you all right, my dear?"

"Just thinking about being here with my father," Una said. "I miss him."

"Of course." Wynne put a hand on Una's shoulder. "He would be very proud of you," she said softly.

"Thank you."

At that moment, a tall blond man in red steel armor called out to them. "You! You were at Ostagar … Duncan's apprentice." Una stopped and looked at him. She didn't remember him at all, but then, she probably wouldn't have. "You killed my friend. And good King Cailan," the man shouted. She moved closer as he said, "I demand satisfaction."

"Satisfaction?"

"Meet me in the alley behind the Gnawed Noble Tavern. We will settle this honorably, ser."

Una shook her head sadly. "This is wrong. We should be fighting the common enemy—the darkspawn. Not each other."

"Your order betrayed the king!"

Una caught Alistair's wrist as he was about to step forward on the attack. "Teyrn Loghain betrayed the king by quitting the battlefield when he had promised to attack. He left all those men to die."

"You add slander to your other crimes?" cried the soldier, appalled.

"Use your head, man," she said. "The Grey Wardens would never ally with the darkspawn. Our entire mission is to stamp them out! We were there to support the king, and all of our order except the two of us were slaughtered right along with him."

The soldier muttered to himself for a moment. "Your words are convincing. I will not fight someone who may have acted forthrightly. But if I find proof, Warden, you will hear from me again." He shook a fist at her and stomped off.

Una watched him unhappily. "It bothers me that there are so many good people out there who believe these lies. It divides the country and creates anger and hatred where there need be none."

"You're more charitable than I am," Alistair growled. "I wanted to punch him out."

"Save it for Loghain. He's the one at fault," she said. "Not these poor people who are still reeling from the tragedy, grasping at the first likely person to blame."

She kept moving, but Alistair and Wynne both stood still behind her for a moment, new respect dawning in their eyes. It was a much more measured view of the issues than they'd expected her to take, and they both felt suddenly proud to be following her.

Wynne looked at Alistair as they caught up to Una, noting the direction of his gaze. Her mouth quirked up in a teasing grin.

"Why are you smiling like that?" he asked. "You look suspiciously like the cat who swallowed the pigeon."

"Canary," Wynne said, smirking.

"What?"

"The cat who swallowed the canary."

"I once knew a very large cat," Alistair began. "But … not my point. My point is, why are you smirking?"

Wynne gave a very undignified giggle. "You were watching her. With great interest, I might add. In fact, I believe you were … enraptured."

"She's our leader," Alistair protested. "I look to her for guidance."

"Oh, I see. So what guidance did you find in those swaying hips? Hmm?"

"No. No no no." Alistair's cheeks burned. He had indeed been staring, watching the movements of her hips, thinking all sorts of thoughts that he did not want this nice grandmotherly woman knowing he was thinking. "I wasn't looking at, you know … her … hind-quarters."

"Certainly," Wynne purred.

"I gazed—glanced!—in that direction, maybe. But I wasn't staring. Or really … seeing anything. Even."

"Of course," she said, in a voice that dripped with honey.

Alistair looked the mage, seeing the twinkle in her eyes. Maker's blood, couldn't a man be confused and tormented and blown away by his feelings for a woman without having people feel the need to comment on it? Especially with such evident glee. "I hate you," he grumbled, looking to Wynne's affectionate eye like a tousle-haired boy who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "You're a bad person."

Una, ahead, heard Wynne's peals of laughter—a sound highly unusual for the mage—and noted Alistair's red cheeks. She wondered what was going on back there, but from the look on Alistair's face, she wasn't likely to find out.

Off at the edge of the Market District Una spotted a couple of soldiers in splintmail. One of them looked official, so she boldly went up to speak to him.

"Ah, Grey Warden," he said. "Sergeant Kylon, Denerim guards, at your service."

"How do you know I'm a Grey Warden?"

"There's a circular with your picture on it being handed out to all the soldiers in Denerim. It does you little justice, may I say." He smiled at her.

Alistair's jaw clenched. Every single man she met just had to flirt with her. Especially the good-looking ones. And was she blushing?

Una inclined her head at the sergeant. "You don't seem like you're about to arrest me."

"Not all of us believe everything we hear," he said. "Also, if I were to try and arrest you, half the nobles' bastards I have for troops would run crying to their courtesans. And I don't relish trying to take you down myself, my lady."

"Is Denerim in such bad shape, then?" Una asked.

"Lots of crime, and I don't have the quality of troops necessary to handle it."

"Do you need any help?"

The sergeant looked surprised, then pleased. "If you're offering, yeah." Then he detailed his most pressing mission—clearing a bunch of riffraff out of a fancy whorehouse.

"I'm glad we don't have Zevran with us," Alistair muttered to Wynne. "We'd never get him out of there." The mage smothered a smile.

After agreeing to help Sergeant Kylon out, they turned their steps toward the home of the Andrastean scholar Arlessa Isolde had told them about. "Brother Genitivi," Una said, fishing the scrap of paper with the information on it out of her bag. She squinted at the address, then led the way toward it.

Inside the house, they were greeted by a young man with dark hair who introduced himself as Brother Genitivi's assistant, Weylon. This time Alistair had no need to worry about flirting, though. Weylon was just this side of hostile, clearly out to give them the shortest possible answers and get them out of there.

Eventually, Una pressed him hard enough to find out that Brother Genitivi had said he was going to an inn near Lake Calenhad. But then, when she pressed a bit further, he claimed to have found the location of the inn in Brother Genitivi's research. He was rattled now, contradicting himself all over the place, and eventually just attacked them all.

Of course, it didn't take the four of them long to defeat him. Searching the back room of the little house, they found the body of the real Weylon as well as a book of Brother Genitivi's research notes talking about a small village in the western mountains called Haven. Una sighed heavily, looking at the map in Brother Genitivi's book. "Oh, holy Maker," she said. "Can't anything ever be close?"

"We had to go that way to go to Orzammar anyway," Alistair said.

"I know, I know," she sighed. "It just seems like we go three extra miles for every step forward."

"We're going to need new boots," Alistair said.

"Boots? By the time we're done with all this, we're going to need new feet," she shot back at him. "All right, everyone, let's go." In the same pocket of her pack, Una found the other scrap of paper with the address of Leliana's assassin's contact in it. "Leliana, shall we go see about Marjolaine?"

Leliana took a deep breath. "No time like now, is there?"

Una held the paper up, glad she had some sense of the layout of Denerim's streets. Eventually, they came to the door of a little house in an alley. Una turned to look at her friend. "Are you ready?" Leliana, her eyes wide, nodded briefly. Putting her hand on the knob, she pushed the door in. Immediately, they found themselves in a battle with several mercenaries. Once those were dispatched, they went through the entry chamber into the back room, where a somewhat overdressed—and heavily overperfumed—dark-haired woman immediately began purring at Leliana.

"How nice to see you, my dear," she said.

"Marjolaine." Una could see the conflict in Leliana's eyes.

"My Leliana," Marjolaine cooed. "How I have missed you."

"So much that you sent assassins after her?" Una put in. "What a charming calling card."

Marjolaine's eyes raked Una up and down, then, dismissing her, snapped back to Leliana. "But of course after our misunderstanding, how was I to know Leliana would so quickly come to see me?"

"You're lying, Marjolaine. What do you want?"

The other woman's face hardened. "I say to myself, where has my Leliana gone? Then I find out she is in the Chantry," she spat, making it sound like a curse word. "Dressing in those dowdy gowns, hair all ragged and messy like a boy's—this is not my Leliana. So I wait. And then you leave, and I know it is time, that you are coming for me."

"Leliana is helping to fight the Blight," Una said, staring down at the woman.

Marjolaine laughed the kind of tinkly little laugh that had always made Una feel like a gangly ostrich. "And you believe that? My Leliana is an accomplished story-teller. She would tell you anything you wanted to hear."

Una's eyes flicked to her friend. Leliana's face was white—with anger, with fear that Una might believe Marjolaine's accusations? It was hard to tell. She looked back at Marjolaine. "Leliana is my friend. She fights at my side and the fate of Ferelden rests on her shoulders along with those of the rest of us." Behind her, she heard assenting noises from Alistair and Wynne, and Leliana's soft exhalation of relief.

"The more fool you, then," Marjolaine snarled, leaping at Una with her claws out. She proved a surprisingly tough fighter, and came with several henchmen who were also quite formidable. It was some time before Marjolaine lay dead at their feet. Leliana, looking down at her former friend, suddenly swayed. Una caught her. "Are you all right?"

Still staring at the dead bard, Leliana whispered, "I have … much to think about. Can we talk later?"

"Of course." Una started to turn toward the door, but Leliana caught her arm.

"I just wanted to say thank you. For believing in me."

"You're my friend," Una said, squeezing the other woman's had. "The best woman friend I've ever had. And we've been through too much together for me to doubt your commitment to our cause." Leliana's eyes filled with tears and she bit her lip. Una patted her on the shoulder. "Will you be all right to finish our tasks here in Denerim?"

Leliana nodded. "Can we take a short break?"

Una thought of another highly emotional side trip they needed to make. "Yes, certainly." She called to Wynne, asking the mage to take Leliana somewhere that she could refresh herself and regain her composure.


	21. Goldanna

"What are we going to be doing?" Alistair asked.

"You're going to go meet your sister," she said. When he blanched, looking terrified and excited at the same time, she added, "I don't have to come with you, if it will make you uncomfortable."

"No no no," he said in his fast nervous voice, clutching at her hand. "I … really don't know what to expect or how this will go. I'd like to have you there, if you don't mind."

"Of course," she said. But she was anxious for him, knowing from his Fade dream how high his hopes were. They were almost certain to be dashed, she thought, at least a little. "Off we go then. You know where she lives?"

He nodded, leading the way through the market district to a small tumble-down house. Outside they paused, and Una could see his hands shaking. "Are we sure we have time for this?" he asked. "We could go, come back … later, maybe. When there's time." Una looked sternly at him, motioning to the door. They went in, Alistair's hands nervously fidgeting with his hair. He called out nervously, "Err … Hello?"

A small red-headed woman came forward, naming her price on linens for washing. Una thought longingly about the bundle of laundry waiting for her in camp, but decided this was hardly the time.

"I'm not here to have any wash done. My name's Alistair," he began. Una felt for him—she had never seen him quite this young and vulnerable and ill at ease. "I'm … well, this may sound sort of strange, but— Are you Goldanna? If so, I suppose, I'm your brother."

"My what?" The woman looked at him in surprise, as if wondering what the joke was. "I am Goldanna, yes. How do you know my name? What kind of tomfoolery are you folk up to?"

"Are you sure your information is correct?" Una murmured to Alistair.

"Yes, I— I think so. Definitely," he said. Turning back to Goldanna, he went on, "Look, our mother, she worked as a servant in Redcliffe Castle a long time ago before she died." Then, as if it just struck him that she might not, he asked, "Do you know about that? She-"

For a moment, Goldanna looked stricken. Una thought she could see old wounds, barely healed, being reopened. Then anger took the place of the pain. "You!" exclaimed Goldanna. "I knew it! They told me you was dead. They told me the babe was dead along with Mother, but I knew they was lying."

"They told you I was dead?" Alistair asked. "Who? Who told you that?"

"Thems at the castle. I told them the babe was the King's, and they said he was dead. Gave me a coin to shut my mouth, and sent me on my way," she added, her eyes glinting. Una, watching closely, thought to herself that this might well go worse than they had expected. If Goldanna had taken a bribe to keep quiet once, she might expect that to be the purpose of this visit, also. "I knew it!" Goldanna finished, the bitterness fairly radiating off of her.

"I'm sorry," Alistair said. In the kindness of his heart, Una could tell he had missed the implications in his sister's speech. "I didn't know that. The babe didn't die. I'm him. I'm … your brother," he finished, his voice softening. Knowing what this meant to him, it hurt Una's heart to see that what he valued as more than gold was meaningless to the woman standing across from him.

Goldanna snorted. "For all the good it does me. You killed Mother, you did," she hissed, and Una could see the pain again under the anger. "And I've had to scrape by all this time. That coin didn't last long, and when I went back, they ran me off!"

Making an effort to try and put them on the same page—for she could see the legitimacy of Goldanna's loss and the hardship of her life since—Una spoke up. "That's hardly Alistair's fault, though, is it?"

Goldanna's eyes settled on Una for the first time, and she sneered. "And who in the Maker's name are you? Some tart, following after his riches, I expect?" Riches? Una thought. Clearly Goldanna had been stewing a long time if she thought a bastard son, even a bastard son of a king, was some kind of lord. It had been known to happen occasionally, but most often bastards were shipped off to the Free Marches or somewhere.

Alistair broke in, his voice petulantly, childishly angry to cover the vast hurt. "Hey, don't speak to her that way! She's my friend, and a Grey Warden, just like me!"

"Oh, I see," Goldanna mocked. "A prince and a Grey Warden, too. Well, who am I to think poorly of someone so high and mighty compared to me?" She swallowed hard. "I don't know you, boy. Your royal father forced himself on my mother, and took her away from me, and what do I got to show for it? Nothing!" It was clear to Una that they had come years too late—any softness that might have been there was burnt away by years of brooding. "They tricked me good," Goldanna hissed at Alistair. "I should have told everyone! I got five mouths to feed, and unless you can help with that, I got less than no use for you."

"I— I'm sorry, I … don't know what to say," Alistair said slowly.

Una put a hand on Alistair's arm, and he started as though being awakened from a nightmare. "It looks like all she wants is your money," Una said.

"Yes, it really seems that way, doesn't it? I wasn't expecting my sister to be so—" He broke off, searching for the right word. "I'm starting to wonder why I came."

"I don't know why you came, either," Goldanna said less harshly. "Or what you expected to find. But it isn't here. Now, get out of my house. The both of you."

Her hand still on his arm, Una said gently, "Let's leave. Now."

"I agree," he said, and she heard the anger starting. "Let's get out of here."

As she followed him through the door, Una felt sorry for both of them. Alistair had done a fair amount of brooding himself, and it left him with a blind spot to the idea that other people had the same pains as he did. Goldanna seemed to have suffered, mentally and materially, from the loss of her mother. But it still didn't mean that when a man came to you with his heart in his hands, offering you family and loyalty and caring, you should spit on it, Una thought.

She waited, holding her breath, to see what he would say.

"Well," he said slowly, shaking his head as if to clear it, "that was not what I expected. To put it lightly. This is the family I've been wondering about all my life? That shrew is my sister? I can't believe it!" Una could see the emotions churning on his face, the grief, the disappointment, the anger, the embarrassment that Una had witnessed that debacle, in addition to having seen the depths of his dreams for this meeting when she found him in the Fade. "I— I guess I was expecting her to accept me without question," he said, and Una glimpsed the little boy, lonely and unloved, dreaming of the sister who would take him home and make it all better. "Isn't that what family is supposed to do? I feel like a complete idiot."

Una took him by the arms, looking into his face. "You don't need her," she said. "You have others who care about you."

His eyes didn't even seem to see her, though. "Duncan was the only one who ever cared for me," he said sadly. "And he's—"

Restraining herself, with difficulty, from shaking him and shouting out "I love you, you great idiot!", she said, "I care about you." Very gently, but very firmly.

He blinked, seeming to focus on her. "I— Thank you." His eyes clouded over again, and he looked away. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. Let's just … go."

Una nodded, falling into step just behind him, letting him have his space.

They caught up to Wynne and Leliana, and started through Denerim's back alleys, clearing out some of the riffraff there for a Chanter's board request. Una found a moment to give Wynne a whispered rundown of the events at Goldanna's house. The mage, herself a bit partisan on the issue, wanted to go back and put some kind of hex on Goldanna's washing, but Una talked her out of it. Alistair and Leliana were both noticeably withdrawn, but as the day, and the battles, went on began to act a bit more like themselves.

Alistair knew he was recovering when he found himself staring at Una's trim thighs again, as she loped ahead of him like an awkward gazelle. He thought how much he loved the way she walked, the way she wielded that ridiculous hammer she'd bought from the dwarven armorer in the market district, the way she was always there for all of them. How much he loved the way she became unsure of herself in social situations, the way he could always make her laugh, the way her long fingers clung to him when they were kissing. How much he loved—her. Loved her.

In the middle of an alley, he stopped short, feeling as though he'd been hit in the chest with her hammer. He was in love with her. 'Wanting to spend the rest of his life hearing her laugh' in love with her. 'Wanting never to go into battle—or anywhere else, for that matter—without her by his side' in love with her. For Andraste's sake, 'wanting her babies' in love with her! How had he never seen that before? All thoughts of the ugly scene with Goldanna were immediately shelved for another time. What had just happened to him was infinitely more important—and more pleasurable—to contemplate.

As they moved through the alleyways, Una spied an old poster, nearly hidden, that in carefully couched language asked for any supporters of the Grey Wardens to come to the Pearl—the same whorehouse Sergeant Kylon had asked them to check out. "What do you think?" she asked.

"Smells like a set-up," Alistair said. "There are only two Grey Wardens in Ferelden, anyway, and who else would be looking for us?"

"Loghain and Howe," Una said grimly. "Between your heritage, my heritage, and what we both know of their crimes, there are no two people in all of Thedas those men want dead more than us."

"It's a good point," Wynne said. "I, for one, will be quite glad to see the last of Denerim. The mouth of the lion doesn't seem the safest place to be working."

"No," Una agreed. "Let's get these last tasks done and head out of here."

As they were exiting the market district on their way to the docks, where the Pearl was located, a small messenger boy came running up with a note for Una. He was gone before she could question him. Scanning the note, she said, "It's an invitation to meet someone in the Gnawed Noble if I'm looking for work." Looking around at them all, she shrugged. "We can use work, certainly, and even more than that, I'd like to know who's interested in hiring me. Whether it's a potential ally or a potential enemy, it's better to have them out in the open."

"General Cairados again?" Alistair asked.

"No. That one's all Cousland," she grinned at him. They headed back to the Gnawed Noble, where they found a somewhat shifty Antivan they'd spoken to in the market. Una nodded at the man. "So, you're a Crow, then?"

"Now, that is a very direct question," he said, sounding very like Zevran. Una wondered if they knew she'd spared Zev, and if they meant to come after the elf. "On the whole, I do not like direct questions. But in this case, you can assume … yes."

"You're murderers."

"Dear lady," he scoffed, "do you blame the sword for its deeds, or the swordsman? We Crows are merely finely crafted swords, and we cut where we are paid to cut."

"You mistake me greatly if you think I'm an assassin," Una said sternly, deciding it probably wasn't worth angering the Crows further by killing the man.

He nodded, looking sad. "I thought as much. But it was worth the effort."

Una very much wanted to ask him questions, but she suspected she either wouldn't get any answers, or wouldn't like the ones she got. So she let him go, and they left the market district.

Entering the Pearl, they made quick work of Sergeant Kylon's task. Una marched right up to the ruffians and talked them into leaving. Alistair shook his head, wondering how she did that. One minute, you had a very firm idea in your head, then she looked at you with those tilted golden cat's eyes, and the next minute you were agreeing with her. And he'd seen it happen often enough to know that it wasn't just him, although it did seem to work somewhat better on men than on women.

The proprietress, a woman named Sanga, came forward, fairly purring at Una now that the mercenaries had gone. "What can I offer you?" she asked. Una, thinking she meant drinks, started to say something, but then Sanga went on, her eyes twinkling. "The men? The women? Some of both?"

Una blushed to the roots of her hair. She absolutely could not look at any of her teammates. "Not right now, thanks," she managed to stammer. But she did remember to ask which room the supposed Grey Warden supporters had. Still blushing, she led the rest of the group back to that room, knocking firmly. When a voice called out, she used the words of the poster, "The griffons will fly."

As they had suspected, the 'supporters' turned out to be mercenaries, in the direct employ of Arl Howe. Una itched to go after him, but she knew it wasn't yet time. Duty, Blight, army, civil war, all stood in her way. But the reckoning would come, she thought viciously, swinging her hammer and caving in the ribcage of one of the mercenaries. Oh, yes, it would come.

At the proprietor's request, they did a full search of the rest of the house, making sure they'd cleared out all the ruffians and the mercenaries. Alistair, filled with his new revelation, was aching to talk about it with her, to tell her. He'd nearly shouted it out in the midst of battle, for the Fade's sake! Finally, he caught her hand when they were in one of the empty bedrooms. Taking his gloves off, and hers, he sat down on the bed, holding her hands gently in his, looking up at her.

"What's on your mind, Alistair?" Una couldn't tell what was coming. His face was inscrutable. She could see fear there, but also something like elation.

"I just … wanted to thank you for taking me to see my sister," he said. "And for talking me down afterwards."

"Of course!" she said. "I was glad to."

"You are a true friend." He took a deep breath, holding her hands a little tighter, then went on. "And I … love you."

Her eyes widened, her lips parted with the little gasp that escaped her. "What did you say?" she asked breathlessly.

"You didn't hear me?"

"Oh, I heard you, but I might have been hallucinating. Can you say it again, please?"

He searched her face, unsure how serious she was, but he saw the glimmer of a smile. Armor and all, he yanked her down, lying back on the bed with her on top of him. Their faces just inches apart, he said it again. "I love you." It would have been nicer, he reflected, if their armor wasn't covered in fresh blood and bits of bone. Or if they weren't wearing armor. Or anything at all, come to think of it.

"Oh, Alistair," she breathed. "I love you, too."

"Really?"

She nodded, unable to say anything else. She was too overwhelmed that this moment had finally arrived, the one she'd been dreaming of so long. Okay, so her dream didn't involve a whore's bedroom, someone's brain matter in her hair, or having to go back about their duties when Wynne and Leliana came looking for them … but he'd said it, on his own, and he meant it, so what more could she ask for?

He shifted to his side, cradling her in his arm, and his lips touched hers oh, so gently. Their whole hearts were in that kiss, everything they'd been longing for and had found in each other. When the expected knock came on the door, Alistair swore. Una grinned. "The armor's a bit of a problem anyway," she said.

"Just wait till later," he growled.

Una felt his voice touch a chord deep within her, setting tension thrumming through her body. "Um, _much_ later?" she asked breathlessly. "Or a little later, or 'just as soon as possible' later? I don't mean to push … exactly … but, um …" She blushed.

"Definitely not much later," he said, his eyes darkening in a way that sent a rush of sparks through her belly. He wasn't sure he could go another night without at least trying to be with her—but he was completely sure he couldn't say so. And he didn't know what the rules were, he reflected, following her out of the room. She seemed to want what he wanted, but was he misreading the signals? Was it okay to do that once they'd said I love you? Were they committed to each other now? Did they have to wait to get married, Maker forbid? Not that he was opposed to marrying her—it sounded like quite a good idea, actually—but he didn't think it was right to make any official commitments until after the whole Blight thing was settled and they saw where they stood. She was a Teyrna, for Andraste's sake! Sure, Grey Wardens gave up their titles, but she was the last of the Couslands, after all. Did he even have any business being in love with her? Of course, it was too late now, and the difference in their statuses didn't seem to bother her. And after all, for the moment they were both fugitive Grey Wardens on the run from the Regent trying to put the country back together, so they were equal, weren't they?

He sighed as his spinning head began to ache. One thing was sure, though—the perfect place and time no longer seemed important.


	22. Tenting

Back at their camp outside the city, with dinner finished, Una sought out Leliana. She wondered if Alistair would try to make a move tonight. Her heart gave a little leap in her chest when she remembered his eyes, soft and warm on hers, when he told her he loved her. Loved her! Oh, it didn't seem real—not yet.

Leliana was sitting on a tree stump a little way from the camp, staring off into space. She didn't turn when Una came up behind her. "My friend?" Una asked.

The bard started. "I'm sorry," she said. "Was there something you wanted to talk about?"

"No. I just wanted to tell you that I was here in case you wanted to talk."

"Ah. I see. Actually, yes," Leliana said. She bit her lip. "I'm just thinking about how I felt when I saw Marjolaine dead there in that little room. I— I liked it. I was glad."

"Of course you were. You're only human."

"But if I feel the way she would have felt, I become her. I see it happening. The things she did, the life she led … they made her what she was. Holy Maker," Leliana whispered in fervent prayer. "I don't want to be like her."

Una put her hand on her friend's shoulder, looking into her face. "You are not like her."

"We kill people all the time. And … and I enjoy it. The battles."

"Leliana." Una waited until the other woman's eyes focused on her face. "My father used to say this to me all the time: Evil doesn't worry about whether it's being good."

The bard looked at Una thoughtfully. "I hadn't thought of it that way before." She got up from the tree stump, giving Una an impulsive hug. "Thank you, my friend, for showing me a new way to look at things."

"You are very welcome," said Una, hugging back.

They walked back to camp together. Una had switched the shifts around, so Leliana had first watch. Morrigan was murmuring over her grimoire again, Wynne and Zevran seemed to be in bed, and Grenli was waiting by Una's tent flap, looking expectant. She didn't see Alistair anywhere. With a disappointed sigh she ducked into her tent … only to find him already there. Her lantern was lit, and he had apparently brought his as well, so the tent was brighter than usual. He was bending over, arranging her bedroll.

Una cleared her throat, and Alistair stood up hastily. "Ah, um, hello," he said.

"Are you lost?" she asked, trying to cover the hammering of her heart in her throat. Just in case he wasn't there for the reason she desperately wanted him to be there for.

"Um, I really don't know how to ask you this," he said, looking uncomfortable. Una raised an eyebrow at him. He went on, his arms flailing in the air as he reached for the words. "Oh, you'd think this would be easier to say … but every time I'm around you I feel like my head's going to explode, and I can't think straight!"

She started to smile, taking a step inside the tent. Behind her, she heard Grenli whumpf to the ground in front of the tent flaps with a funny little growl that might have been a giggle. "I feel the same way," she offered.

Alistair grinned at her, clearly recovering his equilibrium. "I hope you mean the head exploding thing in a good way," he said. He paused while Una tied the tent flap closed behind her. Both of them knew now where this was leading … but he needed to say the words. And she found she needed to hear them. So she stood, watching, waiting for him to go on. "Here's the thing," he said. "Being near you makes me crazy." A shaft of fire went through her at the rasp of his voice over the last word. She drew in a deep breath and licked her lips. Desperately, Alistair looked away before he forgot his carefully rehearsed speech. "But I don't want to be without you. Not … ever. I don't know how to say this another way." Now he looked back at her, to make sure her reaction was the one he hoped for. "I want to spend the night with you. Here. In your tent. It may be too soon, but I know what I feel."

The impulse to throw herself in his arms was nearly overpowering, but she needed to be certain he wasn't going to regret this in the morning. "You want to spend the night?" she whispered. "Are you sure?"

He spread his hands out in front of him in a helpless gesture. "I wanted to wait for the perfect time and the perfect place, but when will it be perfect? If things were, we would never have met. We sort of stumbled into each other, and even though this is the least perfect time, I still found myself falling for you, in between the fighting and everything." Her eyes were wide and soft, and he thought he could happily drown in them. "I really don't want to wait anymore. I've … never done this before. You know that. I want it to be with you. While we have the chance." He was breathing heavily, feeling like the air itself was a thousand fingers stroking him, but what if this wasn't what she wanted? What if this was too much, too soon?

He still looked shy, she marveled. Her entire body was on fire, and he still thought she might say no. In a swift step, she closed the distance between them, pressing her body against him, breathing in the spicy scent of the same cologne he'd worn that night long ago in Redcliffe, and her long fingers sought out the sensitive place at the back of his neck while she whispered in his ear, "I thought you'd never ask."

Alistair gasped in mingled arousal and relief. His arms swept around her, his hands cupping the round curves of her buttocks, pulling her against him, while her mouth explored his neck. He moaned, sliding his hands upward, under her shirt.

Una stepped back. She grasped the hem of her shirt and pulled it off over her head, tossing it into a corner of the tent. Alistair's mouth dropped open as she reached behind her, unhooking her breastband. He murmured something under his breath as he reached out, hesitantly touching one small, round breast. Una arched her back, closing her eyes, as his touch became firmer. Then she felt his mouth close on her nipple. She threaded her hands through his hair, holding him to her, feeling the sparks all the way down to her toes. His hands slid down her sides, hooking in the waistband of her pants.

She held her breath, wanting him to keep going but not sure she could actually say so. Then he dropped to his knees, his mouth moving down, pressing kisses on her flat belly, as he slid her pants and smallclothes down in one motion. She stepped out of them, feeling his hands caressing the backs of her thighs.

"Alistair," she moaned. He looked up at her, his face flushed. "I'm going to fall over," she breathed. He shifted aside, taking the opportunity to remove his own shirt, as she lay down on the bedroll.

Looking at her, stretched out like that before him, he felt a sense of wonder well up in him underneath the surging fire. "You are more lovely than I could ever have imagined," he said. He slithered rather awkwardly out of his own pants and smallclothes, which had become most uncomfortable. Lying down next to her, he covered her mouth with his. As their bare skin connected for the first time, there was a throaty moan, but neither of them knew if it was hers or his. Alistair's hand moved slowly down, caressing her breasts and stomach, until it reached the triangle of hair between her legs. He paused, waiting for the signal, which came when she gave a quick moan, thrusting her hips up against his hand. Then he moved on, groaning as he felt her wetness against his fingers. He gently explored her, encouraged by her little cries.

Then she was sitting up, pulling at his shoulders. Her eyes were wide and glowing green and she reached out with her tongue to moisten her lips. "Please, Alistair," she said.

"Are you ready?" he whispered, in a voice so ragged he didn't recognize it as his own. She could only nod, whimpering, as his fingers continued their soft exploration of her most delicate parts. Una lay back, and he positioned himself over her. "Maker's blood," he hissed as he felt her hands on him, guiding him into place.

Una grasped his arms, feeling them quiver under the strain as he held himself up. And then he thrust forward, and she threw her head back, catching her lower lip in her teeth, as he slid easily inside her. She could feel every inch of him stroking her. She wrapped her legs around him, urging him on.

Not that he needed any urging. Alistair was utterly intoxicated by the feel and the taste and the smell of her all around him. They thrust together, their mouths meeting, tongues mimicking the actions of their bodies. The climax took them both by surprise as their excitement mounted and peaked in a fireball of sensation. Still joined, they lay panting together for a long moment before Alistair raised his head, looking down at her. She ran her hands through his hair, wet with his exertions. "I love you," he said. "In case that wasn't clear already."

"And I love you," she said, pulling his head down to hers and kissing him. She felt him harden inside her and thrust up against him. Before they knew it the fire had begun again.

Afterward, they lay together under the blankets in a tangle of arms and legs. Una tucked her head into his shoulder, sighing in contentment.

"Una?"

"Yes, my darling?"

"What do we do now?"

She sighed, not wanting to have to think practically just yet. She wished this night, the two of them lying here together, could go on forever. What was it her father had said, 'each moment a lifetime'? "I suppose we should get some sleep," she said at last. "You have second-to-last watch and I have last watch. Drat!" she said suddenly. "I should have switched that. Wynne won't be able to find you when it's your turn."

That wasn't entirely what he'd meant, so her words took a few moments to sink in. "Wait, you said you were changing the watch to keep us from getting complacent! Did you … I mean, were you hoping … You changed the watch for, um, this?" They'd extinguished the lanterns already, so he couldn't see her, but he could feel her nodding against his shoulder. He hugged her tighter as they laughed together. "You pretend to be so practical, and all the time you're all devious and wonderful." He kissed her again, meaning it to be a quick peck, but it turned long and lingering.

"Of course," she said when the kiss ended, "as Grey Wardens, we don't actually need all that much sleep …" Her voice trailed off suggestively. She slid one hand down his chest and over his stomach.

As her hand dipped lower, Alistair gasped. But he still wanted an answer to his original question, so he caught her hand, holding it in his before it could do any more mischief. She made a small protesting sound that almost melted his resolve. "Really, though," he whispered. "I'm not sure what the rules are."

Her mouth quirked up in the darkness. "By the Maker, Alistair—if you'd asked me this in Denerim, I could have picked up a copy of the rulebook in the Wonders of Thedas," she said, faking exasperation.

"There's an actual rulebook?"

"Of course. And if we had one I could turn to the section covering what to do when two Grey Wardens on the run from a usurper try to end a Blight and wind up falling for each other."

There was a silence. Then he muttered, "You are a very wicked woman. You're going to regret that."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, definitely."

"When?"

"When you're not expecting it. Now, can we be serious, please?"

"All right," Una said. "What was the question? Ow!" She rubbed her side where he had poked her.

"What are the rules?" he asked.

She stretched languidly, loving the feel of his arms around her. "Darling, I don't think there are any rules that cover our situation. We're going to have to make up our own. If what you're asking is what I want, then I'll tell you." She strained to see his face in the dark. What she longed to say was that she wanted to marry him and have his babies, but even now she felt the need to be cautious and not say too much. "I want to fall asleep in your arms every night and wake up in them every morning for the rest of my life." After a moment she added, "And I don't care who knows it."

"Ah," he said, warmth running through him. "So one tent, then?"

"Putting up a second tent seems like a lot of effort for something that won't get a lot of use, doesn't it?"

"You know our little group is already talking about us, right?"

She grinned at him in the darkness. "First smart comment and I'll feed them to the darkspawn."

He laughed at that. "See, this is why I love you."

"Are we good now?" She trailed her hands down his back and over his smoothly muscled buttocks, shifting under him so that he lay again between her spread legs.

"Let's see," he murmured, dipping his head to kiss the upper curve of her breast. "Fall asleep together every night, wake up together every morning. I think I can handle that. Although I may have some trouble with the actual sleeping part."

"The feeling's mutual," she gasped as his fingers slid between her legs. Sleep was the last thing on their minds for a long time.

A few short hours later, Wynne came back into camp from her watch hour. She stood outside Alistair's tent, calling his name quietly. Usually the young man was quick to respond when awakened. Due to the nightmares, he slept lightly, he'd explained once. But today there was no answer. Wynne was hesitant to stick her head into the tent—having spent a lifetime in the Tower, she wasn't overly modest, but she did believe in privacy. Still getting no answer, though, she was just about to peek inside when Grenli gave a small woof.

She looked over at the mabari. "What is it, dog?"

Grenli's tongue lolled out of his mouth, and he woofed again, turning his head to look at his mistress's tent. Wynne was still getting used to the dog's great intelligence and his communication style, so she didn't get it at first. "No, Grenli," she whispered, coming closer to the dog. "It's not Una's watch, it's Alistair's."

With a wide doggy grin, the mabari appeared to nod, then turned his head again, looking at the tent for a slightly longer pause. "Ohhhh," Wynne said, getting the point. "Alistair's in there, is he?" And why should she be surprised, she thought. This had been building for a while. She still thought it was foolish of them … but at the same time, they were both young people, out on their own for the first time, thrown together in intense circumstances. She remembered her own youth and a few of the follies thereof with a nostalgic smile.

"I'll be out in a moment, Wynne," came the somewhat testy voice of the young warrior. Wynne restrained a chuckle as she recognized the whispers and curses of a young man trying to find and put on his clothes in the dark after flinging them about willy-nilly. Oh, those were the days.

Alistair ducked through the tent flap. "Watch time, then," he said briskly, refusing to meet Wynne's eyes. "Anything to be aware of?"

She grinned at the no-nonsense tone. "No, nothing, Grey Warden, ser," she said. "Except that your shirt's on inside out." She headed off to her own tent with a chuckle, listening to the grumbles behind her.


	23. Birthday

They journeyed on for a few days. Una decided not to go to Soldier's Peak for right now—it wasn't such a pressing task, and they wanted to see that Arl Eamon was healed as soon as possible. She knew Alistair worried about the older man quite a bit. They camped not far from the old Warden base, seeing the towers peeking out from above the trees.

It was no longer surprising to the rest of the group—if it had been to begin with—that the two Wardens were sharing a tent. The change in their relationship was in the very air around them, as the days had turned into one long bout of foreplay. The teasing, the touches, the caresses, the kisses … the two of them had become quite sickening to be around. Even the mabari had taken to avoiding them. Not that Una and Alistair noticed or cared, particularly. They enjoyed the extra time together.

Today had been a bit different, though, and Alistair wasn't sure why. Una had been not exactly prickly, but definitely standoffish. Not only from him, but from the whole party. He'd caught her staring off into space, looking sad, more than once, but when asked, she had said only, "It's nothing. I'm fine." Given the way she was clinging to the mabari, he thought it might have something to do with her family, but she wouldn't give him any answers. She called an early halt to the day's travel, and as soon as the tents were up, asked Alistair for some privacy and disappeared into theirs.

"Lovers' quarrel?" Zevran asked, his tone sugary sweet.

Too bewildered even to be irritated at the Antivan, Alistair shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "Not that I'm aware of. She doesn't seem angry. Just sad."

"Ah," said the elf. "Angry women can be … amusing to deal with. Sad women? They are traps that a man can mire in and never get out of alive."

"I'll keep that in mind," Alistair muttered. Since he was no help standing around in camp wondering what was going on, he decided to go and collect firewood. Lots of firewood.

Inside the tent, Una sat with the vellum spread out in front of her.

_Dear Mother and Father,_  
How I miss you. The people I'm traveling with have become ever more important to me—some of them are like family, or more, now—but today they cannot make up for what I have lost. So much has happened to fill you in on. Father, Mother—I went back to the battlefield at Ostagar. I saw what the darkspawn had done to King Cailan's body, and we killed many of them for it. But neither Grenli nor I saw any trace of Fergus. I still have hope that he is alive somewhere, but where I do not know. No one I've spoken to has heard from him.  
We saved the boy, Connor! He lives, as does his mother. Now we are trying to save the Arl himself—but the only way this can be done is by hiking up into the mountains, following the work of an Andrastean scholar, to find the Urn of Sacred Ashes. If it's only a myth, the Arl is doomed. It's a lot to bear, the Blight and the Arl and all of it. But I am not alone. I have Wynne, the mage who joined us at the Tower. She reminds me of you, Mother—stern and strict, but it covers the great affection she bears us. Leliana, who has become my dear friend. Morrigan, who illustrates many of General Cairados's finer points about friends and enemies. Grenli, of course, my faithful friend and the one without whom I could not have gotten through this day. Zevran, the elven assassin, who says little and watches much and keeps his own counsel and I think is learning to like us, but slowly. And Alistair. Who loves me! So much has happened in that area—he gave me a rose in the Tower, kissed me in Redcliffe, told me he loved me in Denerim. And now we are together and it is everything I had hoped for. Everything I used to dream love would be while watching the two of you. What the future may hold, I dread to think. But we have today, and probably tomorrow, and beyond that I dare not speculate.  
I hope that you are proud of me. That as I become an adult and a woman I am not a disappointment to you. I love you and miss you every day and I just wish I could see you both again.  
Ever your  
Pup 

She came out of the tent, looking around to check on everyone. Leliana was bent over a pot, slicing some kind of presumably edible vegetation. Wynne was mending a shirt-it looked like one of Zev's. Morrigan was nowhere to be found. Practicing shapechanging somewhere, Una speculated. Zev was throwing knives at a target he'd drawn on a tree. And Alistair was trying to train Grenli to fetch, and getting trained himself in the process, Una noted with great amusement. She walked quietly to the edge of the fire, holding the letter over the flames until it caught, and then letting it fall, watching the flames consume the page entirely. She sat on her heels, shutting out the thunk of Zev's knives, the little tune Leliana and Wynne were humming together, and the exasperated sounds of Alistair chasing the stick the mabari wouldn't deign to touch.

_My dearest girl_ , came her father's voice. _What a wonderful moment it was 19 years ago when they placed you in my arms for the first time. I could tell from the first that you were going to be special. But even I didn't know you were going to be this special. What you are doing seasoned warriors twice your age would balk at—and you are doing it well, with grace and sensitivity and determination. I know if Fergus is alive, you will find him. Keep your eyes on the witch and the assassin. You can't trust either of them fully at this point. But I know you know that. Your Alistair is a good man, and I would be delighted to terrify him for a few hours before welcoming him into the family. He is still young in ways that you are not … but you are young in ways that he is not, so the two of you complement each other. My pride in you grows every day. I love you, Pup._

The tears were flowing freely down Una's face as she sat with her eyes closed, listening to the beloved voice. She hadn't noticed the camp quieting around her, as Wynne and Leliana both noticed her unusual stillness and silence, and Zevran, who had witnessed this before, ceased his practicing and drew near to the fire, watching her closely.

_Una, Una._ Her mother this time. _Happy birthday, my darling girl. Woman, I should say. Your actions have earned that title over and over again. You are a formidable woman—equal parts your father and me, I think, and that combination would frighten not a few people. As indeed it would—and will—terrify Rendon Howe._ Una heard the steel in her mother's voice in the last sentence, and renewed her vow to make Rendon Howe pay personally for every injury he had inflicted on her family. _You deserve all the happiness you have gained with this young man, who is clearly extraordinary if he is able to handle you. The two of you are a good match, and I am looking forward to grandchildren. Although you may wait on that until after the Blight is over._ Una heard a chuckle in her mother's voice this time, and she smiled through her tears. The voices faded, and she dragged the back of her hand across her face.

To her surprise, a great tongue swept over her cheek. Only now did she feel the familiar weight of Grenli's shoulder against hers, and on the other side the less familiar but just as dear pressure of Alistair snuggling up against her. She opened her eyes, noticing that Alistair—along with the rest of the camp—was watching her with some concern. Not Grenli, though. The mabari barked something at her that she assumed was his version of "Happy birthday", and dropped a half-eaten mouse into her lap. Una looked at the mouse and then at the very happy dog next to her.

"Thanks, Gren," she said brightly. "It's just what I always wanted. Only," she leaned over to stage-whisper in the dog's ear, "I had mouse for breakfast. You mind finishing this for me?"

She gingerly lifted the mouse with the edge of two fingers and dropped it into Grenli's open mouth. It disappeared instantly. He barked again, and lay down next to her, supremely happy.

"Um, happy birthday?" Alistair asked, having watched the whole exchange closely.

"Thank you," she said.

"You could have just said that's what was bothering you," he grumbled.

"I couldn't," she said. "Not until—" She glanced into the fire.

"They still there?" he asked. Una was touched that he remembered their conversation from the day he'd found her with the burning paper boat, all that time ago.

"They are," she said, smiling.

"It's your birthday?" Leliana exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "I wish I'd known. I don't know how I'd bake a cake over the fire, but I could try …" Her voice trailed off, clearly working through the problem.

"No, really," Una said, her face reddening at all the sudden attention. "I didn't mean to make a big deal out of it. I just couldn't help thinking about what this day would have been like if my family …" She put a hand over her face to stem the tide of tears before it started again. Alistair's arms wrapped around her and she leaned into his comforting warmth.

"What would it have been like?" he asked gently. "I'd like to hear about it, if you're up for talking." Looking up, Una could see that Wynne and Leliana had drawn closer as well, and even Zevran, seemingly engrossed in the endless cleaning and honing of his knives, was not sitting as far away as he had been before. Morrigan had drawn closer to the group fire as well, unbelievably enough.

She took a deep breath. "Well, first there'd have been presents. My mother and sister-in-law would have gotten me some girly things that would have looked lovely on them, but made me feel like a fish out of water. For starters. And I'd have been expected to wear them to a ball held in my honor, no doubt. Where I'd have tried to sit out as much as I could so no one could see what a terrible dancer I am." Feeling she was being a bit unfair, she clarified, "They'd have meant well, of course. My mother was always a bit jealous that my father essentially had two sons. He understood me so much better than she did. I think it's only been in the last few months that I've become someone she could appreciate." Una couldn't stop the tears this time, and she took the immaculately pressed handkerchief, scented with some exotic cologne, that Zevran handed her with gratitude.

"No doubt she does," Wynne said with understanding.

"Thank you, Wynne. You're a lot like her."

"Thank you, my dear," Wynne replied. "That is a great compliment. I have heard much of Teyrna Eleanor, although I never had the pleasure of meeting her."

"I'm told in her youth she was quite a warrior," Una said. Wistfully, she added, "She never told me much about those days. I always wondered if she'd been more like me when she was younger."

There was a pause as Una stared sadly into the fire. Then Leliana sat forward. "What else would have happened on your birthday?" she asked eagerly. Looking around, Una realized with surprise that none of her companions had ever experienced a birthday surrounded by their family. How could she mourn having had 18 of them?

"My brother Fergus would have teased me unmercifully the whole day, promised that he'd gotten me absolutely nothing, left dreadfully inappropriate gifts lying around for me to find, and then at the end of the day surprised me with something utterly extravagant that his wife would have scolded him for buying. Right, boy?" she asked the mabari. Grenli barked, then whined sadly. "Grenli here was my 14th birthday present from Fergus, and has always been almost as much Fergus's dog as mine." She put her arm around the mabari, pressing her head briefly against his shoulder. "We'll find him, boy. If he's out there, we'll find him." Looking up at the others, she couldn't help grinning at the memory. "Oriana—my sister-in-law—was furious that Fergus had bought his sister a mabari puppy. Whether it was the money, the inappropriateness of a young woman owning a wardog, or the fact that he'd never have bought one for her, I don't know. And then at the very end of the day, just before I went to bed, Father would give me his present. It was always the best part of the day." She stared into the fire, the memory washing over her. "Last year it was a first edition of the _Treatise on Warfare_."

"Your favorite book," Alistair said.

"Exactly. What I really miss, though, is my own copy. Father gave it to me for my 10th birthday, and it has—had, I guess—notes in the margins from both of us. The covers were practically worn off." It occurred to her then that none of her companions had ever known their fathers, either. She could have kicked herself. "I'm sorry, everyone," she said, looking around the fireside. "I was so lucky to have had them for so long. It seems selfish of me to mourn what so many have never had."

"But you know what you are missing. Those of us who have not grown up with our families, we may imagine, but we will never truly know." Zevran's voice was thoughtful. "I suspect, in truth, that the fantasies we construct are better than the realities would be."

"You can say that again," muttered Alistair. The scene with Goldanna still rankled bitterly in him.

There was silence around the campfire, as they all considered the families they had never known and the ones they had always dreamed of having. Una realized that this camp full of people were more of a family to each other than any of them had ever experienced before, and she felt a surge of pride at having brought them all together.


	24. Companions

Breaking the somber mood that had settled over the companions, Leliana said, "Tell us about the ball." She was sitting up on her knees, all thoughts of dinner forgotten. "I've been to many in Orlais, but never one in Ferelden."

"Oh, my least favorite part," Una sighed. "My dance card would already be filled before I even walked in. Mostly by younger sons of nobles, generally in their middle teens."

"How old are you, exactly?" Alistair asked.

Zevran rolled his eyes and tsked. "Alistair, I know you are not skilled in the ways of women," he said, moving a few more inches away from Alistair's clenched fist and flashing eyes, "but it is never a good idea to ask a woman her age."

Una smiled, her hand on Alistair's causing him to relax his fist. "I don't mind. I'm 19 today." She saw their reactions and sighed. "I know, I'm very, very young to be doing this. But I don't see anyone else jumping up to do it, so I guess I'm it, young and everything. At any rate, I think my father had approached every eligible man he could think of about me, and none of them were willing to put up with me, not even as a favor to my parents or for the power connected with marrying a Teyrn's daughter. Which is fine, since I didn't want any of them, anyway."

"What man wouldn't want you?" Alistair wondered at the same time as Leliana asked, "What did you want?"

"I was awkward, downright rude on principle, and had the reputation of being headstrong and completely uncontrollable," Una said, answering Alistair's question first. "A reputation I was careful to keep up, mind you. My parents were reasonable people—neither of them would have pushed me into a marriage I didn't want, which is how a Teyrn's daughter gets to be 18 years old and unspoken for—but if anyone truly worthy had put himself forward, there would have been some pressure. I knew what I wanted," she said. "I wanted what my parents had—they were deeply in love, even after such a long time together, and it was easy to tell in the way they laughed and talked with each other. But my mother was more than my father's love. She was his friend and his partner. And that's what I looked for and could never find. Someone strong enough to win against me, both physically and in battles of will; someone secure enough to treat me as a person and a warrior, not just some simpering weakling; someone who could make me comfortable with myself as a woman. The last one was the part I thought was truly a fantasy." She spoke mostly to herself, having all but forgotten her audience. As her voice trailed off, and she stared into the flames remembering those dreams and dwelling on how recently they had become an almost unbelievable reality, those around the circle reacted to her words.

Wynne looked at the young couple in each other's arms by the fire, and a certain interlude of her youth came back to her, a man who had been strong enough to let her be who she was, strong enough to let her go when she needed it. Would she still have left if she'd known she would never find that again?

The automatic cynical response rose up in Zevran's throat, but it found no voice. Una's sincerity was too obvious. He had never known there were really women like this—people like this, for that matter. People for whom honor meant more than staying bought; women of courage and integrity who would give their whole selves to a partner. The genuineness of her love for the ex-Templar was obvious for all to see. Usually it made Zev scoff; he had whiled away quite a few hours on the long days of travel imagining the many tragic ways their love was likely to end. But for a moment, sitting here and listening to her, he could imagine a love that didn't end. One that grew stronger over time. When he found that his gaze had traveled to the red hair and sweet mouth of the bard, Zev shook his head, cursing at his own folly, and jumped up, going anywhere to get away from all that insidious … love.

Leliana sighed, thinking how nice it must be to be young and just at the beginning of love. Despite her experiences, the bard remained a true romantic and hadn't yet lost hope that there might be someone out there who could understand and accept her past. The rumble of someone's stomach brought her back to reality, however, and reminded her of the bits and pieces of dinner that lay around her, abandoned in her interest in Una's story.

Looking at the two of them, their foolish dependence on one another on display for all to see, Morrigan was tempted to scoff. But somehow it almost seemed … sweet, as well. She wondered if perhaps sometime in her life there would be time for such emotion. If she could ever find a man she could stomach looking at her that way, of course. And then she shook her head, angry at herself. She had a far greater purpose than merely becoming some man's … squishy lap toy. No over-idealistic pair of youthful puppies was going to turn her head away from her ultimate goal.

Alistair held Una, trying to control his furious blushing. He knew how she felt about him, but to have the picture painted for him in such flattering tones was more than he had expected. And he still didn't understand what it was about him that made her feel all those things. He was just Alistair, after all, and that had never aroused any particular emotions in anyone else, other than the odd bit of disgust or anger.

Grenli shifted, laying his head on his mistress's knee. Like her, he missed the family from Highever Castle, but he was living the true life of a wardog now. People snuck him food, even the dark one. And now his mistress was happy with the big one who acted like a puppy himself occasionally. All these things made Grenli mostly content. But he still wasn't fetching any sticks.

Withdrawing her attention from the flames, Una got up out of the circle of Alistair's arms, allowing him to get on with his camp chores for the evening. She took a moment by Morrigan's fire.

"That was an interesting display," Morrigan commented. "The celebration of your birth, I take it?"

"Something like that. I don't suppose you celebrated birthdays with Flemeth?"

"I believe Flemeth has had more birthdays than most of us can count," Morrigan said, amused. "And my birthdays were occasions for intensifying study. There was little time for celebration." She looked at Una. "Still, you must miss your family. They sound quite devoted."

"We were," Una said softly. "But I have a new family now," she added with a smile.

"You mean this motley band of adventurers, and Alistair?"

"Exactly." Una grinned. "And you."

Morrigan looked surprised. "Thank you." She stared after Una as the taller woman turned toward the main campfire.

Through the trees, Una spied Wynne in the fading light. The mage was practicing—it was one of the things she liked about Wynne, that old as she was, she was still trying to learn new things and hone her skills—but looked exhausted enough to have just been through a battle. This reminded Una of Wynne's fainting spell after the battle before, and she made her way to the mage's side.

"I don't think we ever talked about what happened to you the other day," Una said without preamble.

Wynne smiled. "No. We never did."

"Will you tell me now?"

The mage took a deep breath. "Before you arrived at the Tower, I engaged a great rage demon in battle. He was attacking Petra, my young apprentice, and I stepped in to save her." Wynne's eyes met Una's. "I did not survive that encounter with the demon."

"You look pretty good for someone who's been dead that long," Una said, not entirely sure how to take that news.

Wynne chuckled. "You think I'm exaggerating. Oh, don't deny it. I can see it in your eyes." She sighed. "How to explain? You see, as the demon disappeared, I fell. I felt the staff slip from my fingers, but I lacked the strength to reach for it. My body hadn't enough vitality left to keep my heart beating. Everything went grey around me, and I was moving toward … something. Then suddenly, I felt as though I was being held back. As though a presence had wrapped itself around me and was holding me, gently but firmly, as a mother would a running child. Slowly, I began to feel again—the cold floor of the Tower beneath my hip, the surge of my heart pumping again. With the power of this presence, I had returned to myself."

"So what was it, then?"

"A spirit of the Fade."

"Does that mean you're … possessed?"

"Not in the way you mean, no. I am not an abomination. You see, the Fade holds many spirits. Some of them are evil and mad, as you have seen. But others are … gentle. Friendly. Caring. As this one is. You see, I have always had an affinity for the spirits of the Fade. Over time, as I visited, I began to feel that one of them was with me, and slowly I realized it was the same one every time. I believe it is this spirit who pulled me back from death and now sustains me. But the spirit's power is weakening. I can feel it slip occasionally. I believe it is only a matter of time before the spirit gives out completely."

"Do you have any sense of when that time will be?"

Wynne shook her head.

"Because we can't spare you yet," Una said.

"Don't worry, my dear. I intend to see this through to the end. I don't like to leave things unfinished." Wynne patted the younger woman on the shoulder.

"Glad to hear it." The two of them made their way back to the fire, where it appeared that dinner was well on its way. Una sank down next to Leliana as the bard was stirring the pot that held the food. "Leliana, how is it that I never know precisely what we're eating, but it always tastes good?"

Leliana grinned. "A girl learns her secrets on the road." She looked around, then said, "I've been thinking about our conversation the other night."

"And?" Una wondered how her friend had been able to reconcile her training and aptitude for fighting with her devout belief in the Maker's peace and love.

"You were right. It is my choice whether I use my training for good. What we're doing—fighting against the Blight—is to restore the beauty of the Maker's world. It is important work, and it serves the light."

"So you feel better?" Una put her hand on her friend's shoulder.

"I do. Thank you, my friend."

"Any time."

Una spied Zev through the trees, making his way slowly back to the camp. She got up, attempting to head him off. She'd seen him take off earlier, looking grumpy.

"The beautiful Warden has something to say?" He was looking downright hostile, his defenses way up.

"Just checking on you."

"I am fine. You need not be concerned about me. I remember my vow."

"It's not just about that. You know that. We're a team. And I like to make sure we're all in good form. Because if we're not, people have a tendency to get hurt."

"How very honorable of you," he sneered.

"Zev, you're slipping," she said with some amusement. "Aren't you supposed to cover all your actual emotions with showy leers and flowery innuendoes? If you're not careful, we might start to learn a few things about you." Una grinned at him.

Zevran was forced to smile back at her. "You do seem to have a way of getting at people, lovely lady. But perhaps I have felt it necessary to lay off the 'showy leers and flowery innuendoes' in order not to be flattened by your very large, very cranky paramour."\

"And deprive the rest of us of the show? Come on, Zev, I expected better from you." She sniffed the air. "I think our resident gourmet has dinner ready. Shall we go and see what … delights she has for us?" Una watched the elf closely, but could spy no reaction. Ah, well, there was plenty of time, she thought.

"Let us do so indeed," he grinned. Her not-so-subtle fishing hadn't been lost on him. So the Warden was sharp enough to have seen his interest, was she? Zevran's respect for her went up a notch as he followed her to the fireside.


	25. Giving

After dinner, the lovers withdrew to their tent together. As Una dug around in her pack for her hairbrush, she heard Alistair's awkward "I have something to say but don't know how to" noises behind her. Smiling at him, she stood up. "Something you need, my dear?"

"It's just that I don't have anything to give you. I mean, I don't actually own anything myself—it's all more part of a collective inventory—except the things you've given me."

"For my birthday, you mean? Because that's really not necessary."

"I wish I could, though. Something truly worthy of you." His whole romantic heart was in his eyes.

"My darling, don't you know that you already have? You're the only birthday gift I could have wanted." Una took his hand.

It was such a sweet and wonderful and unbelievable thing for her to say that he wanted to say something in return that would be just as amazing. But he was Alistair, sayer of stupid things, and she scrambled his brains at the best of times, so what came out was, "Why?"

She just looked at him.

He knew this was his chance to salvage the moment, to say something that would make her understand what he meant. But instead, he said, "I mean, is it just because I'm … here?" He could have happily marched outside and into the nearest nest of darkspawn when he saw her eyes widen and knew he had hurt her.

Una turned around, resuming the search for her hairbrush. "It's funny," she said conversationally. "When I was Lady Cousland of Highever—back when I wore fine clothes and bathed regularly—the only men who deigned to give me a second glance were the ones after my family's money and power. Now that I'm just Una the Grey Warden—clad in armor that's usually covered in blood and more or less unwashed—I seem to attract everyone's interest. Perth, Teagan, that cute guy with the Denerim guards, even Zev ... they've all made it quite obvious that they find something about me enticing." She turned to look at Alistair, her eyes cold with anger and disappointment. "So please, don't demean either of us by accusing me of having no other option."

He held up his hands. "I swear, that's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" Her tone made it clear that this better be good.

"It's just that … I'm just Alistair, you know? I'm not a knight, or a Bann, or even a Captain. I don't have 'the sexy accent,'" he said, in a horrible parody of Zevran. "I don't really … have anything."

"Actually," she broke in, "you do have quite a sexy accent."

"I do?"

"Oh, yeah."

He was glad to see she didn't look so mad now, and it was nice to think she found his accent sexy, but now he was all self-conscious about talking. "No one's ever seen anything … special in me," he said. "Except Duncan. And I—I'm just not sure …"

"If you can trust me?"

"It's not so much trust," he said. "It's more … well, this has been like magic. What if I wake up tomorrow and it's all gone away just as magically and you—you're not mine anymore?"

Una looked into his miserable face, her heart melting. "I don't know," she said. "I plan to be yours pretty much forever, if that helps. I understand why you feel that way, and that my promising doesn't help that much. I guess you'll just have to trust me that I really do love you. You, Alistair, who are well worth loving. Until some day you wake up believing it. Can you do that?"

He thought trusting her sounded a lot better than the alternative. He nodded.

Una closed her eyes so he wouldn't see the irritation she knew must show in them. She knew why he was insecure, and didn't entirely blame him for it, but she had to admit she was getting tired of having to talk him into their relationship all the time.

Alistair saw the annoyance anyway, and cursed himself for being a babbling idiot. "I'm sorry," he said. He reached out, pulling her toward him. When she didn't resist, he said, "I don't suppose you'd let me … make it up to you?" He slid his hand up her side, under her shirt, caressing her smooth skin.

"What did you have in mind?"

He brushed her hair back from her neck, nibbling gently. "I thought I might start off with this," he murmured.

"Doing good so far." She arched her neck.

"I have a few other ideas, as well, if you're interested." He slid his hands down her back, cupping her buttocks, pulling her against him.

Una sighed, clinging to him.

"I'll take that as a yes." He pushed her shirt aside, kissing her shoulder, while his fingers stroked the backs of her thighs. Una started to slide her own hand up under his shirt, but he caught it in his. "Nope. My turn this time." He slipped her shirt off over her head, and laid her gently down on the bedrolls. Alistair lay next to her, one hand stroking her stomach. Slowly it moved up her ribcage, sliding around her back to unfasten her breastband. He tossed the scrap of fabric over his shoulder and returned his hand to her body, cupping her breast. Rolling on top of her, settling himself between her legs, he took the other breast in his other hand, cupping and stroking the delicate flesh. Una shifted restlessly under him, trying to force her nipples into his hands. Bending down, he blew lightly on one. She moaned. He stroked his hands down her ribcage and across her stomach, taking first one nipple and then the other in his mouth, kissing and nibbling. Una arched her back, her hands tangled in his hair, holding his head to her. His hands skimmed beneath her waistband again, stroking the delicate skin of her inner thighs. Shifting, not removing his mouth from her breasts, he pushed her breeches and smallclothes down as she lifted her hips to let them slide over her curves.

"My turn yet?" she asked.

"Not tonight, my love," he said, settling back between her legs. His mouth moved slowly over her ribs and down across her stomach while his hands caressed her thighs. Then he lifted her legs, draping them over his shoulders, and she felt the soft, wet touch of his tongue between her legs. She gave a cry, arching up. "Shh," he said. "Do you want them to hear you?" Easier said than done, she thought. Then he put his mouth over her most sensitive spot, sucking gently then lightly scraping with his teeth, and she grabbed her pillow, pulling it over her face to try and muffle her moans. As his tongue and teeth continued to work on her, she felt a finger slide inside her. The sensation was absolutely incredible, and she felt herself spasming against him, her head spinning.

When her head cleared, he was lying next to her, his hands stroking her breasts, pinching her nipples very lightly. She arched again, still aroused. "And you wonder why you're the most perfect gift I could have asked for," she whispered, catching her breath as his hand dipped back between her legs, playing with her. "Where did you learn all this?"

"Natural skills," he murmured, his mouth at her neck again. She pushed herself against his hand. "I find you quite inspiring." He moved his fingers in a small circle at just the right spot.

Una whimpered. "Alistair."

"Mmm?"

"Please? I need you."

Without another word, he moved over her, sliding inside her with familiar ease. She moaned, wrapping her legs around his waist. They moved together rhythmically, tension rising inside them until it reached its peak and they clung to each other, panting.

She fell asleep first, curled against him, and he held her, watching her sleeping face in wonder, memorizing this moment … just in case.


	26. Rest

The next day, the whole crew of them were acting strangely. Except Morrigan, who merely studied them all like specimens of odd bugs. Una had a reasonable suspicion of why they were all acting this way, but the specifics she wasn't sure about. And when the whole day went by—with whispered conversations and people disappearing into nearby farmholds—without any kind of birthday surprise appearing, she had to admit she was confused. She tried to ask Alistair about it at bedtime, and he kept saying "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," until finally he kissed her, which effectively stopped all the questions.

She was awakened by a rather annoying bird chirping outside her tent. Raising her head, she could tell it was full daylight outside—why had no one called her for her turn on watch? Groggily, Una got up and dressed. Poking her head out of the tent, she looked around. It was a beautiful day. Sunny and warm—and what was that smell? It was wonderfully familiar. Tantalizing and sweet and just a little … fried? She looked over at the fire, where Leliana was bent over a frying pan.

"What are you making?" she asked.

"Oh," Leliana said, looking up in surprise. "Happy birthday!"

Una groaned. "I knew it!"

"None of that, now." Alistair appeared, a huge grin on his face, carrying an armload of wood. "We're overdue for a day off anyway. Lots to do around camp. And you're not doing any of it."

"But I should clean my armor, and—"

"Nope," he said. "You are officially not in charge today, and those of us in charge say you are not to do anything useful. At all."

Una looked helplessly at Leliana, who shrugged. And held out a plate. "Crepes?"

"Crepes? Orlesian crepes?" Una's eyes widened. "It's been years. And strawberries, too?" Leliana nodded. "Well, maybe a little break might be a good idea." She took the plate, eagerly digging her fork into the thin, sweet pancake. Which was marvelous. "This is really, really good," she said between bites. Leliana watched the Grey Warden shovel in the food with widened eyes. She'd been worried about the recipe, whether it would come out all right … Clearly she'd managed to do a good job with the limited ingredients at her disposal.

"My work here is done," Leliana said with a bright smile, disappearing into her tent. Una could hear the sound of a blade being sharpened.

As Una licked the plate clean of the most delectable food she'd tasted in months, at least, she felt a presence next to her. Looking up, she saw Morrigan standing there, looking uncomfortable. "Happy birthday," the mage said stiffly.

"Thank you. You don't need to do anything, though," Una said. "This all was not my idea."

"Oh, I know quite well whose idea it was," Morrigan said. She glared at Alistair, who was whistling cheerfully as he … darned socks? Una was beginning to wonder if she'd hit her head and was having some kind of hallucination. "Is there more to it than the offer of felicitations?"

"No. That's enough. And appreciated."

"Ah. Then I must use this unexpected time off to my advantage." Morrigan returned to her own fire.

Grenli came over, looking longingly at the plate. "Oh, Gren, did I not save any for you? Sorry, boy. That was incredibly good." Lifting the dog's ear, she whispered into it. She giggled as she watched him duck his head into their tent. He snuffled around in Alistair's pack and emerged with a particularly smelly chunk of cheese, carrying it off to chew on.

"Hey!"

Una looked around. He was glaring at her.

"I was saving that."

"I know," she said. "And it smelled. Badly."

"Do you know what kind of cheese that was?"

"Stinky and disgusting. If you must obsess over cheeses, can you please do so over cheeses that don't smell … like that?"

"I'll have you know, that's very good cheese," Alistair said, affronted.

"And I'd rather eat that sock."

"It's yours, so go ahead."

"You— You're darning my socks?"

"I am. Doesn't get my cheese back, though, does it?" he pouted.

"No, and it won't. Seriously," she said. "Next time you bring something that smells like that into the tent, I'm sleeping with the mabari."

"He brings himself in there every night," Morrigan put in from her campfire. "You'll be spending many nights with your dog, I predict."

Alistair bristled, although not as much as usual, and Una sighed. It just never ended with those two.

She got up, stretching.

"My lady," purred the Antivan voice next to her elbow, "such a sight is truly deserving of a celebration."

"Ah, Zev," she said over Alistair's growl. "So glad to see you're feeling better."

"Indeed I am, lovely lady."

Muttering under his breath, Alistair took his bundle of socks and disappeared into the tent. Una hoped giving Grenli his cheese wouldn't ruin whatever plans her lover had for the day … but she couldn't regret it, either. It really had stunk. She turned her attention back to Zevran, who had produced seemingly out of nowhere a narrow sharp little knife.

"Um, you're planning to disembowel me right here in camp?"

"Not the first thing on my mind, no," he admitted. "Actually, this is a present. Happy birthday."

"A skinning knife?"

"No, no," said the Antivan. "Behold." A slender leather sheath with a little strap had appeared in his hands as well. He slid a hand down her calf to pull up her pant leg.

"Zev!"

"Just … demonstrating," he said, buckling the sheath around her leg inside her boot. The little knife fit perfectly inside. "You see, in case you are overpowered? And need a weapon at close quarters. If done correctly, the enemy will not even know he has been cut until his blood is all outside his body. I can instruct you in these arts, if you are of a mind."

"I'm not really—"

"I know, you are more of a smasher, wielding your giant hammer. But occasionally even a powerful warrior such as yourself is in need of a little … subtlety."

"Thank you, Zev." She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek, to the voluble disgust of Alistair, who had just emerged from the tent.

Zev disappeared into the trees at that point, and she heard the rhythmic thunk of his arrows as he practiced his archery. Soon enough, Leliana had emerged from her tent and a second set of arrow thunks joined the first.

"You know," Una murmured, "if any of your plans involve us being out of camp, it might be a good time to give those two some privacy."

"Those two?" Alistair looked confused. Then he followed her pointed gaze to the glade where the two rogues were practicing. "Leliana? And Zevran?"

"Shh!" Una hissed with urgency.

"You don't mean … what I think you mean?"

"Not if you keep shouting about it."

"Oh. All right, then," he said.

"That is, if you're still speaking to me."

He raised a suggestive eyebrow. "Maybe not exactly speaking." And suddenly the day was much warmer.

"Speaking definitely overrated," she offered, somewhat breathlessly.

He picked up a basket she didn't think she'd ever seen before, and handed her a pair of practice swords. Una looked at him questioningly. He nodded. "Oh, yes, before the day's out, you'll be bowing at the feet of the most powerful warrior in Ferelden."

"How exactly do I bow at my own feet?" she asked, following him out of camp.

"Aren't you cute? So optimistic," he cooed at her.

They had camped not far from Lake Calenhad, and he led her to a secluded spot near the lake, surrounded by willow trees, but with a nice broad expanse of grass. "You planned this all yesterday?" she asked.

"It was very difficult," he said. "With the food, and the location scouting … a lot of work. I wore myself out."

"I could tell," she said in mock disappointment. "Last night was a bit … lackluster." She sighed for effect, watching him closely, expecting the attack, but he merely grinned at her.

"Nice try." He handed her the larger of the two swords.

"What, no hammer?"

"You think I want you knocking me over the head with that thing? Thank you, no." He took the other sword and his shield. "Ready?"

For answer, she struck out, narrowly missing his stomach as he jumped back. "Lose focus in this game for one minute …"

He feinted with the sword, then struck at her with the shield. She twisted out of the way, coming around to land the edge of the wooden sword against his calf. She used the sword to lever herself back into stance, leaving him stumbling. He glared at her, and she waggled her eyebrows at him.

They struck and parried for a while, neither gaining any particular advantage. Both were breathing hard, their shirts stuck to their chests with sweat. Alistair called a break and pulled his off.

"No fair!" she said.

He grinned at her. "Go ahead. Make it even." The dark eyes dared her, but she remembered the last time they'd squared off, and the audience they'd gathered. No, she'd keep her shirt on. "I don't think we ever decided what I'll get when I win."

She watched a drop of sweat roll down his chest, over the well-defined muscles of his stomach … "What?"

He threw back his head and laughed. It really was a very warm day, she thought. Suddenly much warmer. "What do I get when I win?"

"You say that as though it has a chance of happening." She tried a straight thrust to the chest, which he parried. Their blades were crossed now, their bodies almost touching. Without thinking about it, she swayed just the tiniest bit closer, allowing her nipples, hardened to points beneath her shirt, to brush his naked chest. The spicy scent of his cologne was intoxicating. She swallowed.

"You could … concede," he said raggedly.

Una looked into his eyes, which were smoldering like coals. And grinned. "Not a chance." She unlocked her blade from his with a swift movement, whirling and slashing. His shield automatically came up to block the blow. They reset, slowly circling each other. Each of them tried a couple of swipes at the other. Then she swept out with the sword. Alistair hit back with the shield, knocking her off balance, and he charged forward, pinning her against a tree with his shield arm, knocking the sword from her hands. But before he could get his sword in place, he felt the tiny knife at his throat.

"I believe I win," she said triumphantly.

"No, no, absolutely not. Cheating! I won—I knocked you out of battle."

"But you'd have been dead before you got your sword ready."

"It was a test of who's the best warrior, not who would die first!"

She slid the little knife back into her sheath. "I'd say the best warrior is the one who survives the battle, wouldn't you?"

"I would not!" He dropped the shield and sword, holding her pinned against the tree with his body, his breath coming in harsh pants. "You clearly lost!"

"I did not!"

And then he was kissing her, his mouth savage on hers. She took his head in her hands, holding him to her, kissing him back with equal frenzy. She felt him fumbling with both sets of breeches, and then he was thrusting into her as her legs wrapped around him, lifting her off the ground, all the pent-up adrenaline exploding out of both of them.

When the storm had passed, he leaned his head, dark with sweat, against her shoulder. "Rematch?" she asked him breathlessly.

"Rematch," he sighed, panting. "Have to. But no cheating."

"What's that supposed to mean, Ser Oh-it's-so-hot-let-me-take-my-shirt-off?"

"Point taken."

"So, lunch?" he asked, once they'd gotten their breathing back to normal and straightened out their clothes. He gestured to the picnic basket.

"What do you have in there?"

He started unpacking. "Fresh bread, baked yesterday. Cheese."

"Of course. Does it smell?"

"Yes, it smells wonderful," he said.

"I'll bet. Pass on the cheese."

"That's the best part!"

"Then you won't mind if I leave it for you," she said, smiling sweetly at him.

Alistair grumbled, diving back into the basket. "Wine, too." He sliced off a hunk of the fresh bread, handing it to her. It was heavenly to taste something baked in an actual oven again. Leliana did wonders, but real baking was beyond the capabilities of the campfire. "You sure about the cheese?" He waved the smelly stuff under her nose.

"Can't you eat normal cheese? Hard, non-smelly cheese?"

He shook his head at her. "For a fine, titled lady, you have surprisingly common tastes in cheese."

"And for a Chantry orphan, you have surprisingly expensive tastes." She stretched out on her back, enjoying the sun. "Where exactly did you develop this taste for expensively disgusting cheeses, anyway?"

Lying down on his stomach next to her, Alistair laughed. "Bann Teagan, actually," he said, and he launched into the story.

The lovers, enjoying a precious lazy day together, didn't notice the various sets of eyes passing through the trees around them. But they were observed.

Leliana came past, looking for herbs to add to the stew for dinner. Catching sight of the two of them looking so young and happy together, she stopped. Pain flitted over her face as she remembered certain times in her own life when she had looked at someone that way and thought it was forever. She sighed, moving on.

Wynne and Grenli, out for a walk together, paused to watch. In the distance, Una lay laughing, one hand reaching out to tousle Alistair's hair as he tried to wrestle her away. "Meant to be," was it? Wynne thought. Maybe so. But she shook her head anyway, hoping the distraction wouldn't prove disastrous eventually. The mabari, on the other hand, watched his mistress with joyous eyes. It had been a long time since he'd seen her happy this way. Finally she looked and acted like the young mistress who had first won his loyalty.

Zevran slipped through the trees, his face inscrutable. Una sat up on her knees, hands waving in the air, telling some kind of involved story to Alistair, who lay on his side with his head propped up on one hand. The elf's eyes narrowed. Was he thinking of his oath? Remembering a past moment of doing nothing with someone precious to him? It was hard to tell. He shook his head, slipping noiselessly through the trees.

The raven landed on a tree above their heads, looking down as the young couple embraced and kissed. This love could prove quite inconvenient, thought the bird who was Morrigan. Her mother had warned her to watch for it, warned her that the obvious draw between the two young Wardens could ruin their plans. Although, given Alistair's distaste for her, Morrigan could believe that the other woman provided leverage that she might need later. If she could keep on Una's good side. The raven flapped away again, leaving the lovers undisturbed.


	27. Unexpected

As the daylight began to wane, Alistair and Una reluctantly packed up what little was left of their picnic. They went back to the camp, hand in hand, looking more relaxed than any of their companions had ever seen them. Everyone seemed refreshed, Una thought, looking around the fireside at all of them.

When dinner was finished, Wynne came to sit next to Una. "My dear," she began, "I have not yet given you my gift."

"Really, Wynne, that's not necessary," Una began to protest.

"But I want to. So hush now," the mage scolded gently. "It's a story, actually."

"Is there a moral?" Una eyed the older woman askance.

"That will be for you to decide. Once upon a time, there was a small kingdom. This small kingdom was under the thumb of another, larger kingdom, and had all but given up. All but the members of a very small, ragtag, but very valiant army. One of the warriors in this army was a woman—a young lady of great fire and determination. She was lovely, as well, but few noticed that because she was such a fearsome warrior, and she wore her fearsomeness on her sleeve for all to see. In battle, she was usually in the midst of the fiercest fighting, and she rarely obeyed the orders of the commanders, always striking out on her own. Often, she managed incredible feats because of this, but several times she and her companions were nearly killed. At last, one of the commanders, a young man of skill almost as fearsome as her own, and with a temper to match, took her in hand, pointing out all the people she was endangering by her actions. The young woman was angry, and the two of them had a battle royal in which neither would concede and neither showed any sign of giving in. Eventually, the young woman faltered for just a split second, and the young man won the contest. After that, a change was noticed in her. She listened more, quarrelled less, and began to change from a warrior into a soldier. She never did admit that the young man had beaten her—she always claimed to have let him win. And maybe she did. He was quite handsome, after all." Wynne looked affectionately at the girl at her side. "Eventually the ragtag army won their war, beating back the larger kingdom and reclaiming their own. The young man and young woman settled down together, and I believe lived happily for the rest of their lives. As Teyrn and Teyrna of Highever." Una smiled. "Your mother was famed across Ferelden for her wild ways, for her skill in battle, for her untameable spirit. Until she met your father, that is."

"I never heard any of that," Una said. "They wouldn't talk about it. When my father and I were alone, he would hint occasionally that I had no idea what my mother was capable of, but … why wouldn't they tell me?" she wondered.

"It could be that Lady Eleanor didn't want you growing up as wild and headstrong as she had been."

"Thank you, Wynne. It's nice to hear about the days when they were young, to know that maybe I'm more like her than I ever thought. I just wish I could share some of these moments with her."

"I'm sure she does, too, my dear."

Later, Una lay in Alistair's arms in their tent, feeling his breathing slowing against her. "Thank you," she said.

"Hmm?"

"This was the best birthday I ever had."

"Really?"

"Mmhmm."

"I never gave you my present."

She pushed herself up on her elbow, straining to see his face in the darkness. "I thought the whole day was your present."

"Kind of," he said. His hand reached out, pushing the curtain of her hair back from her face. "But I wanted to give you something else. Something to keep."

"Didn't we talk about this? We have enough to carry …" Her voice trailed off as he put his fingers over her lips.

"I hope you won't have a hard time carrying this. It's a promise."

"What kind of promise?"

Alistair sat up, taking her hands in his. She could feel his hands trembling just the slightest bit. "I promise, some day, to give you a home."

She threw her arms around him. "I'll treasure it," she whispered. Love, sex, and a commitment? No question about it, best birthday ever.

They were back on the march the next day, refreshed from the day off. The weather continued to be beautiful, and the travel was almost enjoyable.

Midmorning they were walking next to a slight overhang when Una and Alistair both sensed a darkspawn presence. A hurlock emissary stepped out of nowhere, hurling a fireball at the whole company, knocking them all to the ground. Wynne was the first to recover herself. Looking around at her companions, most of them still enveloped in the flames, all of them struggling to rise, she raised her arms in the air, calling on the spirit that sustained her to wrap its healing presence around the entire company. The flames receded, and the rest of the team was soon up and attacking the group of darkspawn.

Una, as was her way, took off after the magic user first, rushing up to the top of the embankment to engage the emissary. She had taken him out by the time the rest of them were through with the underlings, so no one saw what transpired in their battle. She came down from the embankment looking tired and blood-spattered. "Wynne, what was that?" she asked.

The mage looked up from the hurlock she was looting, clutching a lyrium potion. The others were all scattered around the battlefield, collecting whatever was useful from the fallen foes. "I didn't know I could do that," Wynne said. Standing up, she put a hand to her head. "It took a lot out of me, though."

Una felt a bit dizzy herself. "In that case, you probably don't want to do it that often."

"No," Wynne said with a chuckle, "it wouldn't do to entertain children at parties with. But it may prove useful in an emergency."

"Possibly so," Una said. Her head was swimming.

"Are you all right, my dear?"

"Fine," Una heard herself say, as if from a long way off. "I'll just—" She tried to gesture to a nearby tree stump, but her arm was too heavy to lift. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she slumped to the ground.

"Una!" Wynne went down on her knees next to the younger woman, putting her ear to Una's chest. Within moments, the rest of the company, having heard Wynne's cry, was surrounding her. Looking up, Wynne saw Alistair's white face as he cradled Una's head in his lap. "She's still breathing, but I don't know what's wrong. I don't even see a wound. We need to get this armor off her."

Quickly, they all worked to take off her armor. As Leliana removed the boot from Una's left foot, blood poured out of it. It was running down her leg from a deep cut on her inner thigh. "Wouldn't she have felt that?" the bard asked.

"I do not think so," Zevran said seriously. "It looks as if it was made by a very thin blade." His quick hands were tying a tourniquet around the leg as he spoke, and the blood began to bubble rather than pulse from the wound.

Wynne performed a healing spell and placed a poultice over the wound. She put her hand on Alistair's shoulder. "She's going to be all right," she said. "But she's lost a tremendous amount of blood, and that I cannot heal with a spell or poultice." She looked around them. "Anyone know where we are?"

"Not far from Redcliffe, actually. An hour, maybe two, walking?" Alistair estimated. He couldn't believe he was actually speaking coherently—half of his brain was utterly frozen in terror, looking at her still face. What would he do if she—

"All right," Wynne said decisively. "Zevran and Leliana, you two are the fastest. Go on ahead to the castle, tell them we'll need to rely on their hospitality for a few days while the Grey Warden recuperates. If Arlessa Isolde gives you any trouble, you may remind her that we are on our way to search for the Urn of Sacred Ashes," she added sternly. Then she looked at Alistair. "I don't expect she'll recover consciousness for some time. Can you carry her?"

"Across all of Thedas, if I have to," he said, tenderly lifting the limp body in his arms. The mabari clung to his side, whining. Morrigan trailed behind them a bit, concerned. She rather liked Una, truth be told, and many plans would come to naught if the Grey Warden died.

As they came into the great hall of Redcliffe Castle, Bann Teagan and Arlessa Isolde rushed forward, both of them clucking over Una, who, true to Wynne's prediction, had yet to regain consciousness.

"She'll need to rest for several days while she regains her strength. She's lost a lot of blood, but should be fine after some rest," Wynne said in response to their panicked inquiries.

Exhausted though his arms were, Alistair would not let anyone else carry her. He and the mabari both refused to be sent from the room once she was safely tucked into bed. "I'm staying right here until she wakes up," Alistair said stubbornly, and Grenli barked something similar in tone. The two of them looked strangely alike standing there, Wynne thought in a mixture of affection and exasperation.

"Fine," she said. "You two keep an eye on her, come wake me up if anything changes. I'm going to get some sleep."

Left alone with her, the two of them took up positions on either side of the bed. "You know," Alistair said, holding her hand, "this is very bad timing of you. Cover your ears," he said to the dog, who did so. "This could have been our first night making love in a real bed. Do you know how long I've been looking forward to that?" Under other circumstances, he might have been embarrassed by the idea of sharing a room with her at Redcliffe Castle, scene of his childhood, but all that was forgotten now. He put his head down on the bed next to her. _Dear Maker, please let her wake up soon. Please let her be okay. Teyrn Cousland? Teyrna? Are you listening?_ He caught himself actually trying to hear her parents' voices. _Oh, Alistair, you are far gone._ After a while, he fell asleep.


	28. Wounded

Una woke up feeling oddly paralyzed. Nothing hurt that badly, except a dull throb in one leg, but she couldn't move at all. When she opened her eyes, it was pitch dark. Was she in some kind of Fade nightmare again? She tried to remember the last thing she'd been doing. She remembered the emissary, talking to Wynne … then nothing else. Panic began to rise in her.

Slowly, she became aware of a familiar sound. Alistair, she thought with relief. Snoring. Shifting her right arm experimentally, she felt a warm weight shift with it and heard a sleepy grumble. So that explained the right side. She was lying under some kind of blanket, and Alistair was lying on top of it. What about the left?

Something cold and wet brushed her neck, and she smelled the remains of whatever Grenli had eaten for dinner. Aha, she thought. She grinned into the darkness, feeling very loved. "Do the two of you mind getting off me?" she said, loudly and firmly.

Both of them jumped, startled apparently out of deep sleep.

"Did you say something? Tell me you said something!" came Alistair's voice in her right ear, while Grenli snuffled wetly at her left.

"I said, get off me!" she said in mingled affection and irritation. Both of them hastened to do so. Una stretched luxuriantly in the bed. Bed? Where in Thedas was she? "That's better," she said tartly. "Now, do either of you want to explain to me where I am and how I got here?" Grenli let out a woof, but Alistair cut him off. "I'll handle this part, Gren." The dog grunted. Alistair proceeded to fill her in on the events of the day, ending by taking her hand in both of his, squeezing tightly. "Thank the Maker you're all right. I don't know what I would have done if—"

Una sighed. "Maybe we ought to talk about that," she said. "Because I'd have had the same reaction if our positions were reversed. And if one of us were to fall and the other one fell apart, Ferelden would be doomed and Wynne would be right."

"Wynne?"

Feeling rather more pain in her leg than she'd anticipated, Una sat up, finding Alistair's hands already behind her with a pillow to prop herself up against. "She gave me a lecture one night about how we're Grey Wardens, and we have a higher duty than our personal feelings and what if we had to choose between the world and each other and all that."

"Very gloomy of her."

"She finished it up by shaking her finger at me particularly. Like I was some corrupter of youth, or something, when I'm younger than you!" Una finished indignantly. "At least, I assume I'm younger," she added, realizing that she didn't actually know how old he was. "How old are you?"

"Twenty." His voice was filled with suppressed laughter. "Glad to hear Wynne was looking out for me."

"No doubt about who's her favorite," Una grumbled.

"She does have good taste," he said smugly.

"If I could see you, I'd hit you with this pillow."

"Thanks for the warning."

"Anyway," Una said in exasperation, "my point stands."

"Your point? Oh, yes, the very cheery one about what if one of us dies."

"I know," she sighed, "but I think we have to talk about the possibility."

"The Blight's the main thing, isn't it? We have to end the Blight, whether it's both of us or just one."

"Exactly. The Blight first, over each other's welfare, over vengeance against Loghain and Howe, over our own survival."

"Agreed," said Alistair. "Now, if we're done being all valiant and everything, can I tell you—or better yet, show you—how very glad I am that you're okay?" He lifted her hand, pressing soft kisses into her palm. Una shivered.

Next to the bed, the mabari whined.

"Grenli doesn't want to be in here for this part," Una said. "Can you let him out? Then I look forward to your … demonstration." She grinned in the darkness.

"Oh, all right," Alistair said, getting up to open the door. The dog left the room, but another form came in. Wynne used her candle to light a few of the sconces on the walls. The room was filled with a sudden brightness.

"Glad to see you're awake," the mage said. "Any pain?"

"Some when I moved," Una said as Wynne moved the covers aside to look at the wound.

"Good. It's healing well." She looked at Una. "I suggest another day of bed rest, then a couple of days of minimal wear and tear before we set out on the road again."

"Yes, ma'am," Una said meekly.

Wynne raised an eyebrow. "I expected more argument."

"No, ma'am."

"Uh-huh." Suddenly the mage turned on Alistair. "And you, young man, will find another room."

"But I—"

"When I say bed rest, I mean rest. Not what you had in mind." Her eyes raked over the warrior, who blushed scarlet.

"If we promise to behave, can he stay?" Una asked. She admitted she was enjoying her lover's sputterings, but not enough to be willing to sleep alone if she didn't have to.

"Can you?" Wynne looked skeptical.

"Probably?"

Wynne laughed. "You tear open that wound, we'll all regret it," she said.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"All right, then. You two get some sleep." She poked a finger in Alistair's chest. "I mean sleep, do you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, sounding like a chastened child.

"Uh-huh." Wynne didn't sound entirely convinced, but she took her candle and left.

"This is no fair at all," Alistair pouted. "Do you know how many times I've dreamed of having you in a real bed?"

"Poor thing," Una grinned.

"I suppose sleeping in a real bed is enough treat. For now," he said, still sulking.

Una settled back to enjoy the show as he undressed. "You're right," she said, watching the lights from the sconces play on the muscles of his back. "It's not fair at all."

"Ha! See?"

"Yes. Yes, I do," she said. "The lights are a bonus, too. I better be off bed-rest by tonight, that's all I can say."

"From your mouth to the Maker's ears," he said with heartfelt enthusiasm. He blew out the sconces and climbed into bed. Curling up around her, he held her for a few moments before whispering, "I was so scared."

"We need to be more careful. I think we've gotten complacent over time."

"We are highly skilled," he murmured sleepily.

"Highly. But even the most highly skilled can have an off day," she said. She waited for an answer, but he was already asleep.

The sunlight was streaming into the room through the windows when she woke up again. Una shifted her leg experimentally. Not bad. A little twinge, but nowhere near as sore as it had been during the night.

"Feeling better?" Alistair raised his head off the pillow to look at her. His hair was all tousled and he looked adorably sleepy.

"Much," she said, and had to laugh at how quickly his expression brightened. "You're spoiled, you know that?"

"Oh?" he said, one eyebrow arching. "Just me, is it?" His hand slid across her belly under the covers, caressing her soft skin, and Una held her breath. "No, you don't want me to do that, do you? Hmm … I wonder if there's breakfast down in the kitchens. I'm pretty hungry." But he didn't move.

"See, you can't even bluff properly," she said, giggling.

"I see," he said, "so now you think you have more willpower than I do?"

"Darling, that's not even in question, is it?"

"All right, then," he said, tossing the covers back and getting up. "Breakfast it is. Shall I get some for you, too, or do you refuse to admit you want that, either?"

Open-mouthed, Una stared at him. If she'd been betting, she'd have lost a lot of gold when he got up. Collecting herself, she said, "No, definitely want breakfast," stressing the last word teasingly. He shot her a glance that looked not entirely amused. The twinge in her leg as she sat up convinced her not to try mending this particular fence just now, but later tonight there might well be a need to be demonstrative and salvage her lover's wounded pride.

Grumbling under his breath, Alistair left the room. Wynne came in as soon as the door opened. "I see from Alistair's expression that the two of you behaved yourselves last night." Una grinned. "More to the point, you behaved yourself, is that the way it went?"

"Something like that. I may be in some trouble."

"Hm." Wynne checked the wound. "I think you can probably get up around dinner-time and resume normal activity tomorrow. We should be able to get on the road again the day after tomorrow."

"Good. Glad to hear it. Kind of." Wynne raised an eyebrow. "Real beds are more comfortable than the ground," Una explained.

"Definitely true. These old bones are glad of the break. But please don't go and get yourself almost killed again on my account."

"I'll do my best. Wynne?"

"Yes?"

"Am I healed enough to have a bath?"

"I think so," the mage said. "I'll have one brought in. After that, the others all want to see you. They've been worried."

Wynne left, and Una stretched, enjoying the sheer sensation of being indoors, in bed, under covers. After a while, the door opened and Alistair staggered in, carrying a tray heaped high with food.

"Never been so glad to see you before in all my life," she said. "I'm starving."

"Oh, is some of this supposed to be for you?" He glared at her.

Una bit her cheek to keep from smiling. "I suppose I could get up and walk down to the kitchen myself," she said. "Which might result in tearing open my wound again and more bed rest."

"No, no," he said hastily, handing her a plate. Then he blushed, realizing the trap he'd fallen into, while Una grinned triumphantly. "Okay, that was a falter, but I haven't lost yet."

"Just wait," she said around a mouthful of ham. "You will." Her eyes twinkled at him.

Alistair groaned, digging a fork into his own plate. He supposed it was silly of him, trying to play this game with her … but the longer it went on, the more he realized he wanted to win.

Una knew the prudent, thoughtful, caring thing would be to let him win … she just wasn't sure she could do it. She couldn't remember ever having let anyone win anything her whole life.

As they were eating, a pair of servants came in and out with steaming buckets of water, filling the tub. Alistair watched them, his eyes filled with horror. He was never going to make it through this, not without going absolutely out of his mind.

When the bath was filled and the servant girls had left, Una pushed the covers aside. Alistair put his plate down, ready to help her up. "Are you all right?" he asked, watching her gingerly put her weight on her injured leg.

"Okay," she said, but she winced.

"All right," he sighed, helping her over to the bathtub. Then he went back to the rest of his breakfast, trying not to watch as she—oh, so slowly—stripped off her smallclothes and the nightshirt she'd been wearing. She was so beautiful, he thought, tall and slender and curvy. His throat went dry and he swallowed hard.

Una tried hard not to look at him, but the glances she snuck were having their effect on her, too. If she hadn't needed his help just to walk to the bathtub, she might have relented then and there. But she didn't think she was quite up to the activity right now. Instead, she sank down into the tub, scrubbing vigorously. When she was ready to get out, though, there he was, holding out the towel, helping to steady her as she dried off, helping her back to bed. Then, with a dark glance at her, he stripped off his shirt, and then his pants and smallclothes. Una caught her breath in an audible gasp. Alistair turned around to look at her, noting with pleasure that her eyes had gone that particular shade of green they did when she was aroused, and she was licking her lips as she stared at him.

He cleared his throat. Una jumped, blushing. "Okay," she said breathlessly, "that was a falter. But I haven't lost yet."

"Just wait," he said. "You will."

Feeling better already, he got into the tub. Una definitely enjoyed the show—the ripple of muscles as he moved, the way the water rolled down his back, the little song he hummed while he scrubbed. Perhaps losing wouldn't be so bad after all, she thought.


	29. Alistair

Alistair was fixing his hair, remarking on how nice it was to have a proper mirror to do so in, when a soft knock came at the door.

"Come in," called Una. And they did. Leliana, Zev, the mabari, Wynne, Bann Teagan, and Lady Isolde. The room really wasn't big enough for all of them, but they were all concerned and wanted an update. Una was able to fill the Bann and the Arlessa in on their progress so far in the quest for the Urn, and to tell Teagan about their return to Ostagar, and how they had seen to it that honor was done to Cailan's body. The Bann wept when he heard what the darkspawn had done to his nephew.

She had wondered how Alistair was going to handle their relationship when it came to people outside their party, assuming he'd be uncomfortable, but she had reckoned without his possessive streak. He remembered Teagan's attempts at flirting with her the last time they'd been at Redcliffe and wanted to make sure he sent the message loud and clear. So he lounged on the bed next to her the whole time, touching her affectionately as often as he could work it in. He figured this did double duty, since he could make it clear who she belonged to and make some progress toward winning the challenge at the same time. Teagan didn't seem overly interested in the situation, but Una's breathing sped up when he touched her, which made him happy, and Arlessa Isolde's eyes were like saucers staring at the two of them, which was satisfying in a whole different way. He might understand why he'd had to be kicked out of the castle, but it still rankled that Arl Eamon's wife thought so little of him.

Alistair was very solicitous over dinner later, as well. He'd had to help her down to the dining room—the leg was improving, but slowly—and then Perth was there at the table. But it wasn't all just about marking his territory. Every time she leaned on him, or asked his opinion about something they were doing, it made his heart swell with pride that this strong woman needed him. He'd spent so much of his life being told how completely unnecessary he was that it made it extra-special to be needed by someone here, in front of some of the very people who had given him that message. Una could sense some of what he was feeling, so she played along. It was nice for her, too, to be able to lean on someone, to be treated like a lady (as opposed to a Lady), to allow herself to be loved and taken care of.

After dinner, Wynne decreed that Una had been up long enough and it was time to go back to bed. The mage inspected the leg wound again once they were back in the room. "It looks much better. How does it feel?"

"Mostly stiff," Una said. "I suspect from all the time lying down. I think I'll be fine tomorrow."

"We'll take the day off," Wynne said decisively. "A rest now could save us all later, isn't that what you said to me in the Tower?"

"I did," Una said. "Glad to know you were listening."

Wynne smiled affectionately at the younger woman. "When I was your age, young lady, children had more respect for their elders."

"Respectfully, I'll bet you didn't," Una replied, grinning.

"Maybe not," Wynne conceded. She looked sternly at Alistair. "Let her get some rest, young man."

"Of course," he said. "That shouldn't be a problem." He directed a pointed glance at Una.

"Ah, the trouble you mentioned," Wynne murmured to Una, who nodded. "Good luck," the mage said, her eyes twinkling, as she left the room.

Una stood in the middle of the room. She looked at Alistair. "So, um, what shall we do?"

"I thought I might go down to the library," he said casually. "Do some research on Haven, maybe. It's still fairly early." He brushed past her, as if by accident, and she smelled his cologne, which always made her weak in the knees.

He really wasn't going to make this easy for her, Una thought. She caught his hand, bringing it up to her lips, kissing the palm and then nibbling at his wrist. He drew in his breath sharply, not having expected her to capitulate so openly. Suddenly her hands were at the buttons of his shirt, her mouth following the opening down his chest, stopping to tease his nipples, then moving across his stomach. On her knees now, she looked up at him as he stood, frozen, hoping to the Maker that she wouldn't stop, and she undid his belt. Pushing down his pants and smallclothes, she took him in her hand and then into her mouth, as his hands tangled in her hair and he moaned.

As he felt his release begin to build, with all his will he managed to push her back. Grasping her hands, he pulled her up until she was standing. Both of them were panting. His hands busy with the ties of her dress, he said breathlessly, "Tell me."

"What?" She stepped out of the dress as it pooled at her feet and removed her smallclothes.

He held her by the shoulders, his eyes searching her face. "Tell me you want me."

She drew his hand between her legs, whimpering softly as his fingers made contact with her most sensitive spot. "Can't you feel how much I want you?"

Alistair's fingers pressed up inside her. "Tell me you need me," he said, thrusting into her rhythmically, feeling her move with him.

"Oh, Maker, Alistair, I need you. I need you now, please," she whispered, her knees buckling.

He lifted her in his arms, carrying her to the bed. His hands stroked her body, sliding up the inside of her uninjured thigh to resume his attentions between her legs. "Tell me you love me," he whispered raggedly.

"Of course I love you," she breathed, arching up against him. "You're everything I've ever wanted. My lover, my shield," she said, grasping his shoulders and pulling him down to her. And at last he filled her, kissing her tenderly, moving slowly inside her, letting the tension build to its peak.

When their bodies had calmed somewhat, she nuzzled up against his neck like a contented cat. "Satisfied with your victory?"

"Well …" he said, pretending to ponder. "Ow!"

She poked him again for good measure.

"It wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked. "Losing?"

"No," Una said thoughtfully. "Not to you." She sat up on her elbows, looking at him. "Thank you."

"For winning? That's new," he said in surprise.

"No, not that. And don't expect to win next time, either," she said. "Thank you for taking such good care of me."

"Thank you for letting me," he said, laughing. "It would have been much more difficult if you'd been hissing and clawing at me like a cat the whole time."

"I'll keep that in mind," she murmured, resting her head on his chest, feeling the strong arms fold around her.

The next day, Una took charge of restocking and going over their supplies. Bann Teagan and the Arlessa looked around for warmer clothes for the party, as Haven was nestled deep in the Frostback Mountains and likely to be quite cold. Zev grumbled about that, missing the warmth of Antiva. "What a chilly country you all insist upon living in," he said.

Leliana shot him a sympathetic glance. "Val Royeaux was much warmer than this," she said. "Perhaps some day when this is all over, we could visit some more tropical climes."

Una glanced curiously at her friend, surprising a faint blush on the bard's face. Zev's face remained impassive, but was there a hint of something in his eyes? Una couldn't tell, and he wouldn't meet her gaze.

As the daylight waned, Una and Alistair met in the library. "What are we looking for?" he asked.

"Anything on the Urn, or the Temple of Andraste."

"I can tell you all sorts of things," he said. "Chantry training and all that."

"I know, and you're very useful, my darling, but I'd like a little information in my own head, as well."

He handed her a couple of books. "Try these." Turning back to the shelves, he rummaged through a few more titles.

"What are you looking for?"

"Old histories. I know Arl Eamon used to collect them. I thought some of them might have more about Haven. Aha!" He pulled a thick tome off the shelf. They both curled up in chairs, reading quietly. It was such a normal, homey moment, it made Una think longingly of days after the Blight when they could just be a couple spending the evening together. She lifted her head, watching him as he bent over his book, so serious and absorbed.

Eventually, she decided she'd gotten all she was going to get from her books. Alistair had a stack of them piled up next to him, and was still so deep into them that he only nodded when she said she was going to go look in on Grenli.

On her way to the kennels, she walked by the Arlessa's sitting room. Hearing Alistair's name, she paused outside the half-open door. Okay, so eavesdropping was never a good idea, but if the Arlessa had something to say about Alistair, Una wanted to hear it.

"Did you see that embarrassing display last night? Fawning all over her like that?"

"Actually, it looked quite mutual to me." It was Bann Teagan's voice, sounding faintly amused.

"I can't believe a woman like that would look twice at that … boy. She used to be a noblewoman!"

Teagan laughed. "She was never the type of noblewoman to settle for some pasty-faced second son. I think Alistair is quite a good choice for her—young, attractive, intelligent. Clearly they share a sense of humor, and they seem to like each other. Why not?"

"Because he's a worthless bastard brat that even the Chantry didn't want," Isolde said heatedly. "He's always gotten better than he deserved, not that I can see why."

"Actually," Teagan's voice was hard as steel and sharp as a knife blade, "he has always deserved much better than we've done for him. And I would watch my tongue if I were you, Isolde. Or learn to use it with a softer edge."

"Why should I?"

Teagan paused for a moment. Apparently Isolde didn't know Alistair's true parentage, Una thought. Interesting. Finally, Teagan said, laughing a little, as though he'd just thought of it himself, "Are you aware of who she is?"

"Una? She's a Grey Warden."

"She's a Teyrna."

"I thought they give up their titles when they join the Order."

"Usually they do. But these are unusual times and she's the last of a very prominent Fereldan family. I suspect an exception might be made. So if things between them go the way they seem to be heading, that 'worthless bastard brat' you have such an unreasonable antipathy to could easily become Teyrn of Highever. That's a future I think you might want to consider getting used to, Isolde." He paused, then spoke again, "He's been treated badly by almost everyone he's ever encountered, made to feel unwanted almost everywhere he's ever gone. And he's still managed to turn out to be a man of intelligence and honor who is out there trying to put our country back together. I find him impressive. And since those two young people are the only way your husband is ever going to be restored to health, I think you owe them a bit more respect."

Hearing Teagan get up, Una hastily moved the rest of the way down the hallway and was around the corner before she heard him leave the room. Her estimation of Teagan had gone up—she appreciated that he could see what a fine man Alistair had become, despite a lifetime of mistreatment. The Arlessa, on the other hand … Una was not impressed. She understood that Isolde was under great strain, between Connor and the Arl, but to blame Alistair for that? Una would have a hard time forgiving the woman for her harsh words.


	30. First

By nightfall they were repacked and ready to head out for Haven in the morning. Una had recommended that everyone get a decent night's sleep, so they all turned in relatively early. She headed back to her room, finding Alistair already there. A roaring fire was burning in the fireplace, the bed was turned down invitingly, and he held a bouquet of lovely flowers, probably stolen from the Arlessa's forcing house.

Una closed the door behind her. "Who are those for?"

"I thought Grenli might like them," he said.

"Very thoughtful of you, but they make him sick."

"I guess I'll have to give them to you, then." They grinned at each other.

Una took the flowers, burying her nose in them. "They're lovely, my darling."

"Una," he said. "This is the way I wanted our first time to be. Special, you know."

She looked at him. "You weren't happy with our first time?"

"Oh, I was! And—and I couldn't have waited any longer." His voice was hoarse at the memory.

"Me, neither. I felt I'd waited long enough already."

"I love you, Una. I still … have a hard time believing that someone like you really cares for me. It might take me a while to get used to."

Laying the flowers gently down on a table, she put her arms around him. "I love you, too, Alistair. And I'm not going anywhere. As long as you aren't, either, you can take your time getting used to it." She blushed a little, looking away. "To tell you the truth, it's a little strange for me, too. I've been so used to being the awkward girl that no one was interested in. I wish I was better-looking."

"You're beautiful," he said, stroking her honey-blond hair. "Everyone can see it but you."

"And you're wonderful. Everyone can see that but you."

"Hmm," he said noncommittally. Taking her hand, he led her over to the bed, pulling her down onto the soft mattress. He drew her to him, kissing her gently. Slowly he kissed his way down her neck. Sliding his hands under her shirt, he pushed it up and over her head. He began nibbling softly at her shoulder. Una moaned, her fingers threading through his hair and stroking the back of his neck, feeling him shudder. Running her own hands up his back, she pushed his shirt off over his head, lowering her head to draw her mouth over the firm muscles of his chest. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he pulled her up so he could claim her lips again. They lay back onto the pillows, their hands wandering over each other's bodies while they kissed.

Alistair reached around her back, unhooking her breastband. "I can't believe I found you in all of this," he whispered. He took her breasts in his hands, massaging them gently, his thumbs rubbing her nipples. Una gasped, arching her back. She'd always thought her breasts were too small, but he didn't seem to find them lacking. He bent down and took one of her nipples in his mouth, suckling gently as she moaned. She shifted restlessly beneath him, wrapping one leg around the back of his thighs, undulating against him, her hands gripping his shoulders.

He sat up, breaking contact. Una whimpered at the sudden chill. "Patience," he said, chuckling.

"Not my strong suit," she said, trying to pull him back to her.

He laughed, sliding his hands under the waistband of her pants, pulling them off. His hands gently caressed her legs, and he nipped at the back of her knee, kissing his way up the outside of her thigh, one hand reaching between her legs and caressing her through her smallclothes. Una moaned again, thrusting against his hand. Needing to feel his mouth on hers, she sat up, taking his face in her hands and kissing him. She shifted so she was sitting in his lap, and she couldn't help rubbing herself against him. It was his turn to moan, pushing up against her. Then she pressed him back against the pillows, unfastening his breeches and sliding them off him. She crawled up across his chest, making sure to stroke him with her bare breasts. He drew in a sharp breath as she slithered over him, her mouth meeting his again, kissing him hungrily. Their bodies rubbed together, creating a heated friction. As if by agreement, they both removed their smallclothes, and Una shifted to take him inside her. Groaning, he thrust up into her as she came down on him. Alistair sat up, holding her to him as they rocked together. The feeling was exquisite, and they never wanted it to end, clinging to each other and moving slowly to make it last as long as possible.

At last they couldn't stand it anymore. Their movements became more hurried, their breathing shorter, their mouths meeting frantically as their pleasure peaked. They sank back into the bed together, holding each other close.

"So that was the way the first time was supposed to go," he said, kissing her temple.

"That was lovely. Still, I'm glad we didn't wait. I'd never have lasted this long."

"Same here." He laughed.

Una tucked her head into the curve of his neck, snuggling close and sighing.

"I'm completely spoiled now, you know. I'll never be able to sleep by myself again."

"That was the plan," she murmured sleepily.

"Una?"

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"When did you first—start thinking about me?"

She lifted her head, looking at him. "The moment I met you."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. The first time you shook my hand, I thought I was going to faint. I kept thinking I must sound like a gibbering idiot because I had completely forgotten how to breathe and had no idea what I was saying to you."

Alistair held her tenderly. "I couldn't tell. I was too busy thinking Duncan must have made a mistake, that you were way too young to be a Grey Warden."

"Great. So I'm falling in love with you while you're thinking I'm some kid who doesn't know what she's doing."

"Something like that." He chuckled. "It didn't take me long to get over thinking that, but it never occurred to me that someone like you might look twice at me … much less that I had any right to be thinking about you. Not until you told me you thought I was handsome."

"I thought I had completely messed things up by doing that."

"And yet here we are."

"Needing to get some sleep," she said reluctantly. "Early morning and all."

"Of course, we're Grey Wardens," he said. "We don't sleep much."

"Oh, no, you don't," she said, grabbing the hand that had started to wander down her back. "Tonight we're getting some actual sleep."

"Spoilsport."


	31. Friends

The next day they left Redcliffe, heading into the Frostback Mountains toward the little village of Haven that was so small and so hidden it might as well have been a myth.

At one point during the morning, Una found herself walking with Leliana. Zev was regaling Wynne with stories of Antiva, Morrigan walking with Grenli—apparently the mabari was helping her search for some kind of mushroom. Alistair was just ahead of the two young women, whistling a tune that Una eventually recognized as the one they had danced to that night in Redcliffe after they had taken back the castle. She smiled fondly at him.

Leliana saw the smile and the direction of her friend's gaze. "So," she said, "you and Alistair …?"

"Yes?"

"You and Alistair. Together, looking contented. You even have a … glow about you. So shameless." The bard smirked.

"Shameless?" Una was trying hard not to blush.

"You know, radiating joy and love while everyone has to face death and the Blight and a bleak future."

Great, thought Una. Leliana, too. Was everyone going to lecture her? But then the bard went on.

"Terrible, gloating like that," she said with a grin. She moved closer, lowering her voice. "So … how is Alistair?"

Una choked. "He looks fine to me," she said.

Leliana bumped the taller woman with her shoulder. "You know what I mean. Alistair and you, those long nights ... He must be quite delightful," she mused. "You wouldn't be so happy otherwise, I think."

Una buried her head in her hands, sure that she must be fiery red.

"He's athletic," Leliana went on, clearly enjoying the other woman's discomfiture. "That's always nice. He is also good at following instructions, isn't he?"

"And he has some brilliant ideas of his own," Una said faintly.

"Ooh, fascinating. The little Templar is all grown up and apparently he … ahem … plays well with others."

Both women giggled.

Alistair suddenly turned around, walking backwards, looking them suspiciously. "What are you giggling about? What is she giggling about?" he asked of them both. "You," Una got out between giggles, the laughter now uncontrollable. She and Leliana were leaning on each other, still laughing. "And your performance."

"My performance?" He was honestly confused. They hadn't done any fighting in several days. What was there to laugh about? "What performance? And why does it warrant giggling?"

Leliana managed to get herself under control for a moment. Her eyes twinkled at him as she said, "We're just talking about how you treat her in bed. Nothing you should concern yourself with."

"How I—?" He blushed absolutely scarlet, up to the tips of his ears, and that sent them both off again, giggling madly. "Oh, Maker," he said, throwing up his hands in disgust. "What is wrong with you women?" He stalked off, his ears still red, leaving them still in the throes of their laughter.

"If you find it so unnerving to have your … activities talked about, Alistair, perhaps you could go about them more quietly," Morrigan remarked acidly as he went past her.

"Sod off, Morrigan."

As their laughter eased, Una decided to do a little table-turning. Zev was far enough ahead to be out of earshot. "And what of you and Zev?" she asked.

It was Leliana's turn to blush. "What makes you think there's anything to tell?"

"I've seen the way you look at each other. There's something there, don't try to pretend there isn't."

"Perhaps. But it's different, isn't it?"

"How is it different?" Una thought she knew, but she wanted to hear what Leliana was thinking.

"You and Alistair … it's all new. All your complications are in the future. Your past is clear, and you can be honest with each other." Leliana looked up ahead, watching the elf's elegant stride. "Zev and I do not trust easily. You know. There is too much behind us, too much we are not ready talk about. And so there's a wall."

Una nodded. "Is it something that might change with time?"

"The wall? Maybe. But even physically," she said with an uncharacteristic blush, "we're both so—practiced, that it would be hard to be sure what is real and what isn't."

"But you like him?"

"Yes," Leliana said, so softly Una could barely hear her.

"And he likes you." It wasn't a question.

"I think so."

"Then I have to believe there's hope for the two of you." Una smiled, thinking of her two friends happy together. Perhaps it was a pipe dream, but she was, after all, an optimist.

Leliana smiled as well. "Maybe. Or maybe not. Only the Maker knows for sure."

"If the Maker is still here, as you believe, your happiness would make Him happy, don't you think?"

"Probably so."

Una patted her friend on the back, hoping there was truly a happy end ahead for all of them.

That night, Una was awakened from a deep sleep—by what, she wasn't sure at first. She lay staring into the dark for a few moments, slowly coming to the realization that Alistair wasn't sleeping either. As far as she could tell, he was lying on his side next to her, his head propped up in his hand.

"What's on your mind?" she asked quietly. He jumped, startled.

"I didn't know you were awake."

"Same here. What were you thinking about?"

"How unbelievable this is." She could feel him struggling for the words. "That every night we come in here, and we tie the flaps closed, and it's just ours. I've never had that, you know. Space that was just mine. First the stables, then the Chantry, then sharing a tent with some other Grey Wardens. Since we've been on these travels is the first time I've ever had so much as my own tent."

Una had never considered all that. She reached up and stroked his cheek.

"And now that we're together, it's even more— Not only do I have a space that belongs to me, but a whole person, too. No one—no one—has ever belonged to me. I don't remember my mother, I never knew my father, and to everyone else I've always been an … inconvenience. Except for Duncan, but him I had to share with the rest of the Grey Wardens. I never dreamed something like this would ever happen to me. I'd given up on it a long time ago."

Una put her arms around him, holding him close.

"I never could have imagined a woman like you, either—someone so strong in so many ways, someone I could share everything with. I always thought women were more limited, I guess." He felt her open her mouth to speak, but cut her off before she could do so. "I know, it was foolish of me, but remember, I never knew very many women."

"And clearly not the right sorts," she said.

"Clearly."

"I never thought I would meet someone who could make me feel like such an important part of every part of his life," she said. "But you trust me as decision-maker and leader, you fight by my side. It's what I always wanted, but never thought I could find." She shrugged in the darkness. "In some ways, my experience has been as limited as yours. I only ever met a certain type of man. And none of them were like my father or my brother, or like you. As I've said before, I always wanted a partnership like my parents had. Whether they were together or apart, whether they agreed or disagreed, they were always part of each other. It would have been impossible to imagine one without the other."

He was silent for a moment, then asked hesitantly, "Do you think your parents would have approved of me?"

"They do approve of you," she said. She grinned suddenly. "If their responses to my letters aren't some kind of self-indulgent hallucination, that is."

"Do you think they are?"

"I don't want to look at it too closely. Either they're really there, in which case I'd have to rethink so many things about what I've always believed, or they're not and my brain is simply filling in what they might have said had they been here, in which case they're truly gone. I don't want to think about it. But even if the things they seem to say aren't really them, I think they would have liked you."

"Bastard son of the king, penniless Grey Warden, all that?"

Una sat up in the blankets, wrapping her arms around her knees. "To be truthful, before all this, you might not have been able to get through the gates. But had they met you, none of what you just said would have mattered. My father was never a man to judge someone by who their parents were or what they owned. He judged people by their thoughts and their actions. And he would have loved you. He'd have teased you mercilessly, taken huge amounts of delight in terrifying you, but eventually he'd have admitted that you were perfect for me and thanked you for taking me off his hands. My brother would probably never have stopped teasing you, but under it all he'd have liked you a lot, too. And my mother would have looked on you as another son, and taken you under her wing immediately."

"You know most of that is impossible for me to believe."

"I know. But someday you'll meet other people who knew my parents, and they'll agree with me." She turned in the darkness to grin at him.

And then Alistair was sitting up also. She felt his hand caress the side of her face under the curtain of hair. "I want to say something."

"I see no way of stopping you," she said, chuckling.

He poked her. "I'm trying to be serious here."

"Oh, well, in that case …"

Alistair leaned forward, kissing her thoroughly but gently. "Una," he said, when the kiss had ended, "from now on, wherever I go, you are part of me. Nothing will ever change that."

She took his face in her hands, resting her forehead against his. "And you are part of me, Alistair. Now and always."

They sealed their vow with a kiss.


	32. Haven

Several days later they found the single lane that led up into the mountains and to the town of Haven. As they hiked up the steep trail, Alistair fell back to walk with Wynne, offering his arm to help her steady herself. "Thank you, my dear," she said. "I may be an old lady, but I can probably manage."

"You're not old at all," he said, "but since my arm is here, you might as well use it. We can't have our healer getting injured, can we?"

"If you put it that way." She took his arm. They walked in silence for a while. Then, noticing the smile on his face and his faraway look, Wynne said softly, "I think you make her very happy."

Alistair glanced at the mage, noting a suspicious lack of grinning or eye-twinkling. He narrowed his eyes. "Oh, not this again. I'm ready for you this time."

"I just wanted to say that this is something good, for both of you. Being a Grey Warden isn't easy. I'm glad you found each other."

Still waiting for the joke, Alistair muttered, "Oh, I'll bet you are, indeed."

"Cherish this," Wynne said seriously. "It may not last." She thought back to several interludes of her past, all of which had seemed forever at the time.

"And?"

"That's all I had to say," she said.

"Really?" he asked suspiciously. "No pinching my cheeks? No making me blush?"

"Of course not," Wynne said. "I like you, Alistair. You deserve to be happy."

"Not even pinching my cheeks a little?" he asked, sounding almost disappointed.

Wynne laughed heartily. "Maybe later."

Alistair raised an eyebrow at her, which only made her laugh harder.

They kept climbing until they reached the village, nestled into the side of the mountain. They were met by an armored guard outside the village gates. He was quite hostile—definitely no flirting going on—and indicated that the visitors were not welcome in town. They were allowed to pass in order to trade at the store, but otherwise were expected to leave immediately. The village seemed largely deserted. The storekeeper explained that everyone was in the Chantry. But inside the store they found the remains of one of the Arl of Redcliffe's knights, and from then on the hands of the townspeople were set against them. They had to fight everyone they saw.

Eventually they made their way up to the top of the village, to the Chantry, which loomed over the rest of the buildings. Inside the villagers were collected, listening to the sermon of a Revered Father. It seemed strange to see a man in that position—the Chantry was run by women, after all. Suddenly, they were fighting what seemed to be the entire village.

"What is wrong with these people?" Alistair asked after the battle, looking around at the carnage.

"This is not of the Maker," Leliana said with a shiver, looking around at the Chantry. "Whatever is going on here, it is good that we are trying to stop it."

Una was only half listening as she removed an ancient but powerful-looking amulet from the Revered Father's body. From behind a bricked-over doorway, she thought she could hear a faint moaning sound. "Wynne, can you give me a hand with this?" she asked. Wynne balled her fist and spoke a magic word and a fist of stone shot forth, knocking down the bricks. Una stepped through the rubble in the doorway, finding a man lying in the midst of a library. The moaning was coming from him. She knelt down. "Brother Genitivi?" she asked.

"Finish it, please. No more," he begged.

"Brother Genitivi, my name is Una. I'm a Grey Warden. We're here to help you."

He struggled to sit up, his hand on his head. "You don't look like those others," he said faintly.

Una motioned to Wynne, who came and looked over the injured man, healing him as best she could. Finally she stepped back. "I am not able to do any more for your leg right now, but it should heal nicely with time and rest."

"Thank you," he said. "But what about the Urn?"

"Do you know where it is?"

"I do. If you help me up, I can take you there."

After some protests regarding his health and fitness for walking, which Genitivi waved away as unimportant next to finding the urn, they did so. Genitivi limped along between Una and Alistair until they approached a door hidden in the mountainside. He asked for the amulet from the Revered Father. Running his fingers over it, he pressed a hidden spring and it popped open, fitting exactly into a depression on the door.

"How did you know to do that?" Una asked, watching closely.

"I saw the Revered Father do it one of the times they brought me in here to torture me." Genitivi twisted the amulet and the door opened. The five of them stepped inside, feeling the stillness of the abandoned temple washing over them. It was obvious it had once been a beautiful, opulent place. Now the stones had fallen from the walls in chunks and snow had drifted in, covering everything. Brother Genitivi gazed around him, open-mouthed. "Look at it all," he breathed. "I could study here for years and never get to the end of it."

Una sensed an opening. "So, could we leave you here, then? Do you think you'd be safe?"

"Safer than you," he said with a small smile. "Besides, with this leg injury, I could never keep up."

"All right, then," she said to the others. "Let's move forward."

They made their way through the Temple, being accosted several times by cultist villagers. At the end of the Temple, they came to a break in the wall, tunneled directly into the mountainside. Here they found not only more cultists but also drakes and dragonlings. Eventually they came to a giant cavern, where an angry, bearded man who claimed to be the leader of the Cult of the Risen Andraste accosted them. They seemed to believe that Andraste had come back to life as a dragon. And of course, the whole cult had to attack them.

Once the cultists had been defeated, they went through a hole in the cavern wall, finding themselves outside on the mountaintop. As they stood there, they heard a screech above their head, and a High Dragon flew over them, settling on an outcropping of rock high above their heads.

Una brandished the horn she had taken off the cult leader. "I could call it down," she said, "if we feel like a challenge."

"Or we could … not," Alistair said.

"I think the dragon appears to be guarding Andraste," Leliana offered. "Perhaps if we leave it be, it will keep Her safe."

"A good point," Una said. "So no dragon-slaying today, then." She sighed.

"I suspect just getting to the Ashes will be enough challenge," Wynne said.

Una sent Zev and Morrigan and Grenli back to where Brother Genitivi waited. Neither the witch nor the assassin had any interest in Andraste, her ashes, or her temple, and Una worried that their presence might cause problems. The closer she got to these ashes, the more she believed in them and in their power.

Una, Alistair, Leliana, and Wynne walked across the bridge and the valley carved into the mountain, finding a small door set into the opposite side. Opening it, they walked into a large, empty chamber. A man stood at the other end, waiting for them.

Una walked up to him. "I am here for the Ashes," she said softly.

"I have been waiting for you," he answered, just as quietly. "I am the Guardian."

"You were expecting us?"

"I wait here for the pilgrims who wish to seek the Ashes. I have been here for a long time, and will be here as long as the Ashes remain."

"How do I get to them?"

"You will only reach the Ashes if you are deemed worthy to do so."

"Do you decide that?"

"The Gauntlet will decide if you are worthy. If you are, you will reach the Ashes. If you are not …" his voice trailed off and he shrugged.

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that," Una said. "Is there no other way?"

"There is not."

"Let's get started, then."

The Guardian looked at her sorrowfully. "I sense grief and pain in your past. Your own, and those of others. Tell me, Una Cousland, do you regret having left your parents behind for Rendon Howe's men to murder?"

Una's jaw dropped open. She felt Alistair take a step toward her, but she held up a hand. Straightening her back, she looked the Guardian straight in the eye. "I had no choice. Someone had to survive to get to my brother, to carry on the family name, and to see that vengeance was done."

The Guardian gazed at her for a moment, then turned his attention to Alistair. "Alistair, knight and Warden. You wish you had been on the battlefield, do you not? You think that if you had been there, you could have saved Duncan, spared him the killing blow, and that now things would be better."

Alistair's eyes closed for a moment, and he whispered, "Yes. If Duncan had lived instead of me … it would be better for everyone."

"Wynne, mage of the Circle. Do you feel that you often offer platitudes instead of wisdom, and that your advice falls flat on the ears of those who hear it?"

Gazing at him calmly, Wynne replied, "You phrase this in the form of a question, but you already know the answer. I am not always confident that I have said the wisest thing, but I do my best, and that is as much as any of us can do."

"And you, Leliana of the Chantry. You were used to the attention of others, and when you entered the Chantry, you were merely one among many. So you claimed that the Maker spoke to you, to gain the interest of the others in the Chantry."

Leliana sputtered angrily. "I did no such thing! My vision was real—the Maker did speak to me."

The Guardian merely gazed at her, then looked back at Una. He waved a hand toward the door behind him. "The Gauntlet awaits you when you are ready," he said. And disappeared.


	33. Andraste

Una turned to her companions, all of them more or less flattened by the Guardian's words. "Break time," she said. "We've all been going strong since we arrived in Haven, and we need a rest and some food. We'll take an hour and regroup."

No one protested, which was usually a sign that a break was long overdue. As the other three scattered, Una followed Leliana. The bard turned to her friend, her eyes snapping. "How dare he! I know everyone feels the need to mock my vision—"

"I don't," Una cut in.

"But even here? Even the representative of Andraste?"

"Have you considered that maybe he was just trying to bait us, to make us angry? Or to cause us so much sadness that we wouldn't want to go through the Gauntlet? I think it was his way of seeing if we were ready for the challenge."

Leliana opened her mouth, then closed it again. "Possibly. That is one way to look at it."

"I believe in your vision. And you have fought for your vision all this time, which is the important part. Whatever someone may say to you doesn't change the fact that when we defeat the Blight, you will have been an instrumental part of that—because of your vision. I believe in you." Una reached out, putting her arms around her friend.

After a moment, Leliana hugged her back. "Thank you, my friend. Your faith in all of us is why we're all still here, still standing in the face of the Blight."

"Perhaps it's your faith in me that has accomplished all that," Una said softly. She patted her friend on the shoulder. "You should get some rest."

"Don't you forget to get some, also," Leliana scolded.

"I'll do my best."

Una found Wynne kneeling down, digging around in her pack for some beef jerky. Wynne looked up as the younger woman approached. "Don't worry about me, my dear. It will take more than a simple question to get me to stop giving you advice."

"I'm glad to hear it." Una grinned. "What would I do without your wisdom?"

"You'd probably do quite well," Wynne said, smiling. Her glance fell on Alistair, who was somberly chewing on something across the room. "And in some ways, your disregard of my advice has proven to be wiser than what I said in the first place."

"What do you mean?" Una asked.

"I was wrong to discourage your growing relationship with Alistair. I have watched the two of you, and you clearly have something special together. He is less guarded, more relaxed, when he is with you, and seems genuinely happy." Wynne sighed. "Love's worthiness is not diminished by the challenges it faces. Quite the opposite. I should have seen that before."

"Thank you, Wynne," Una said, touched by the mage's willingness to admit she had been wrong.

"You must cherish each precious moment you have together. You will still face perils, and you still may be parted by duty or by death." Wynne smiled at the younger woman. "But it brings warmth to these old bones to know that something so beautiful can be found in the midst of all this chaos and strife." Una smiled back at the mage, and they hugged. "Now," Wynne continued, "go and talk some sense into that boy, will you, please?"

Following Wynne's gaze to where Alistair sat, staring off into space and looking sad, Una stood up. "My pleasure," she said grimly. "It's time to nip this in the bud, once and for all."

She strode across the room purposefully, sinking down onto the floor next to her lover. He didn't look around as she approached. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said. "I've made peace with my actions a long time ago. If I had not left them, I would be dead now, and how would that have been better for anyone?"

His eyes flicked toward her and then away again. "I wish I felt that way."

"I wish you did, too," she said sharply.

Now he looked directly at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You persist in thinking that it would have been better if you were killed on the battlefield," Una said. "You're wrong. And you dishonor Duncan's memory every time you think it."

"I— What?!" His voice echoed in the empty chamber.

"Duncan chose you to be apart from the main battle. Why? Because he felt that if something happened, Ferelden would need you."

"Because I'm the bastard son of the King," he said bitterly.

"Not just because of that. Because you're … you. When you assume that Duncan chose incorrectly, or arbitrarily, you assume that he somehow didn't know what he was doing. I think he did."

Alistair looked at her, clearly wanting to argue further. Una held a hand up.

"Remember also," she said, "that Duncan told you his time was almost up, that his Calling was coming. If you had died and he had lived, where would he be now? Fighting at my side, or deep in darkspawn in Orzammar?" She sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "This constant dwelling on your presumed inadequacy is tiring. It's insulting to all those of us who count on you. It's counterproductive. Please stop."

He looked at her for a long moment. He still wanted to argue. But some part of him knew that she was right—that Duncan's Calling was coming, and that Duncan would not have sent him away from the battle without a good reason. He bumped her shoulder with his. "You're right," he said. "I'm sorry. I'll try to have more faith in myself. And in Duncan. And you, for that matter."

"Thank you."

"Now you," he said firmly, "have got to get some sleep. Don't think I haven't noticed how you never get a rest while you're going around making sure the rest of us are okay."

She shrugged. "I'm fine."

"You are not."

"You're worse than Wynne, do you know that?" But when he opened his arms, she crawled into his lap, armor and all, leaning her head on his shoulder. Even encased in metal, it was a warm and comforting shoulder, and she slept more quickly than she would have expected.

Alistair didn't sleep at all. He held her, leaning his cheek against the soft top of her head. When he felt her begin to murmur and thrash in the throes of nightmare, he made hushing noises, stroking her hair, and her body eased back into sleep again.

After the rest period was over, and they had all gotten up and stretched, Una turned to face the open door. It was time to find out what the Gauntlet had to offer.

The first test was a series of riddles put forward by the shades of people who were important in Andraste's life. When they answered the last riddle, the massive doors at the end of that hall opened, revealing a single figure standing there. Una shrieked, running forward. "Father!" Bryce Cousland held up his hand before she reached him, and she stopped short. Of course, you couldn't hug a ghost. "Father," she said again, tears spilling from her eyes.

"My darling pup," he said. "You are not to feel guilt over what happened at Highever Castle—you saved the most important thing you could that day. Yourself. You have done and will continue to do great honor to the Cousland name. My death, and my life, have no further hold on you." He reached out a hand, as if to touch her face, then withdrew it. "Set your eyes on the horizon, do not look back, and do not falter. You will prevail, my girl. And our pride and love go with you." He disappeared.

Una swiped at her face. "Father …" she whispered once more. She wasn't sure if it was better to have seen him, or worse to have had him there for a moment and then lost him again. The others hung back, allowing her to collect herself, before they all moved through the door into the next room, where they found themselves fighting shadow versions of themselves. Una and Alistair glanced at each other with wicked grins as they closed on each other's shadowy counterparts. But of course with Wynne and Leliana helping out it wasn't a fair test of their prowess against each other. There would still need to be a rematch.

At last they came to a large chamber where they could see the Urn of Sacred Ashes at the top of a flight of stairs. A pedestal stood just inside the doors, and a wall of fire stood between them and the stairs where the Urn rested.

Una read the inscription on the pedestal, and started removing her armor. "Everyone strip," she said resignedly.

"What?!" Alistair said. "Here?"

"It's the final trial," Una said. "Walking through the fire with no protection but faith."

As they all stood in their smallclothes, Alistair tried desperately not to look at any of them. He didn't want to see Wynne in her smallclothes, and didn't want his body to react to seeing either Una or Leliana. Not that he hadn't seen Una quite a few times, but the sight had not stopped being exciting. Quite the opposite—the more he saw, the more he liked.

When all their armor and gear lay at their feet, Una took a deep breath. She stepped forward into the flames. They licked at her flesh, but didn't burn. There was a warmth in them that seeped all through her and she felt her heart lift.

On the other side, the Guardian appeared again. He nodded at Una. "You are the first to arrive here in a very long time. The Gauntlet has proved you worthy."

Una nodded back at him, and he disappeared once more. They walked forward, up the steps, very slowly. The weight of the significance of this moment pressed down upon them all.

"I am not worthy to be here," Leliana said in a whisper.

"Of course you are," Una said, just as softly. "Or you wouldn't have made it."

Wynne swallowed. "This is a most amazing moment. I am glad I have lived long enough to experience it."

Una reached into the Urn and took a pinch of the ashes, putting them in a pouch she had brought along for the purpose. She looked up at the statue of Andraste. Was it her imagination, or did the statue smile at her? It seemed to. She reached out a hand for Alistair, and they stood there, hand-in-hand, in front of Andraste. Looking over at him, she found him gazing at her intently. "I love you," he said simply. "And I swear, here in the presence of Andraste, that I always will."

"I love you, too. And I swear, here in the presence of Andraste, that I always will."

They kissed softly. Una could have sworn that the statue's smile was wider now, as though she set her seal of approval on their love.


	34. Results

The four of them left the temple, leaving Andraste to herself again until the next set of pilgrims should approach her shrine, and made their way back through caverns and Temple to the entryway where they had left Brother Genitivi. Una showed the scholar the pouch of ashes, and tears came to his eyes. She knew how much he had wanted to finish the quest himself, and could not argue too firmly when, with shining eyes, he announced that he intended to ask the Chantry to let him study the Temple, to bring the faithful to see Andraste. Privately, Una thought all that would accomplish would be to defile the Temple and waste the Ashes, but that was Andraste's concern. Una suspected the Bride of the Maker could come up with a few more tests to keep herself safe from prying eyes and hands.

They left Haven, where only a few villagers remained, most of them still quite hostile, and rejoined Zev and Morrigan and Grenli in the camp outside the village. The camp was quiet that night, as the memory of the wonders of Andraste's temple still clung to those who had been there. Una took a seat next to Wynne at dinner. "What's on your mind?" the mage asked.

"Is there any way we can cure you?" Una asked abruptly.

Wynne chuckled. "Am I sick?"

"Well, you are suffering from a slight case of death."

"That sass will get you in trouble yet, young lady."

"Maybe. But really, isn't there something we can do?"

"No. And I don't think I would want to. My life is prolonged through the generosity of a spirit of the Fade. And while I am appreciative, I am content to accept my fate."

Una shook her head. "All right. If that's what you feel."

"Your concern is touching, my dear," Wynne said with a warm smile.

After dinner, Una dug into her pack, removing a pair of Antivan leather boots she had recovered from a chest in Haven. She found Zev, as always, honing his blades at the edge of the fire. Sitting down next to him, she placed the boots in his lap.

"Antivan leather!" He held the boots up to his nose, inhaling the choking stench. "It smells of home."

"I thought you'd like them," she said with a smile, remembering the conversation they'd once had about his love of that particular smell.

"You have no idea," he said, for once letting his enthusiasm carry him away. Then he remembered himself. "I mean, thank you."

"You're very welcome." Una started to get up, but the elf grabbed her arm.

"I wanted to ask you, dear lady … at some point, we will end the Blight, yes?"

"That's the plan."

"And at that time, you will no longer have need of the services of a certain Antivan ex-Crow, would that be right?"

"I think it's hard to say what will be going on at that stage. What's your real question, Zev?"

He sighed. "When the Blight ends, my oath will no longer bind me to you, would you not say so?"

"Fair enough."

"What will you do with me then?"

Una looked at him, seeing that the brown eyes looked as serious as they ever got. It was quite possible the elf was being sincere, she thought in some surprise. "I can always use a friend, Zev," she said.

"Ah. A friend. Yes, I think that might be manageable."

"Your enthusiasm is overwhelming."

He grinned. "Perhaps I could kiss your hand in gratitude."

"Not required. Not even encouraged."

"Not even to see what kind of reaction we could get from the seething volcano over there?"

Una glanced at Alistair, who was indeed seething. No matter how many promises they made each other, it seemed jealousy was part of his nature. She found it quite sweet, actually. Grinning, she looked back at the elf. "I don't believe my hand is the one that needs kissing," she suggested.

"Beautiful lady," he sighed, "do not tempt me to play with fire. You do not know who will get burned."

Una stood up, then said quietly, "Which is worse, Zev, to be burnt while trying to warm yourself at the fire, or to freeze to death because you're too afraid to approach it?"

The elf looked up at her, and his eyes flashed. "An interesting point, my lovely Warden, and worth considering."

"See that you do."

Una moved across the camp, sitting down next to Alistair, who immediately put a possessive arm around her, glaring at Zev as he did so. The elf grinned at the completely unnecessary display. He wasn't sure he understood the impulse, the need to make your claim on another person known. He'd always found secrets to be more alluring, the hidden glances that no one else was aware of. Wearing your heart on your sleeve as the two young Wardens did seemed dangerous to Zev. The more people who knew what you valued, the more danger you were in. Shifting his attention to Leliana's red head, bent over a bit of mending, he thought that just once it might be nice to be able to be so open about one's feelings. To let someone know that you valued them, let them know so everyone could see.

Shaking his head, Zev clutched the Antivan leather boots to his chest. These thoughts were for other people, people who were not on the run from the most feared assassin organization in all of Thedas.

After a few days, they reached Redcliffe, finding Arl Eamon's condition unchanged. Teagan and Isolde were stunned when Una produced the ashes. Isolde began weeping, rushing off immediately to find the mages who had stayed, waiting for the little group's return. Teagan studied the woman in front of him. Una, young as she was, had turned out to be a force to be reckoned with, he thought. She had power—power that he was glad to be on the right side of. Loghain and Howe would learn to regret allowing her to live, he suspected. As he followed behind them, Teagan noticed as well that the four who had been in Andraste's temple seemed different. They were … more vibrant, he thought. Brighter. He supposed standing in the presence of the Maker's bride would have to change a person. He'd never really thought about it before.

They came into Eamon's bedroom, where the mages were preparing a ritual out of an ancient text. As they all looked on, the ashes were applied to Eamon's still form, and a dark shadow, like a cloud, seeped slowly out of his body, disappearing into the air. At long last, the Arl's eyes opened, and he sat up in bed, his health fully restored.

It took some time, but eventually they were able to fill him in on everything that had happened during his illness. The Arl was stunned by the revelations, but Una saw his strength now. Although he faltered at points during the telling, when it was done and he knew everything, the Arl's shoulders straightened and he turned to look at all of them.

"These are times I never expected to see," he began. "And certainly I could never have imagined that Loghain Mac Tir could turn against his king or his country. It seems like a nightmare, although I appreciate that it is all too real." He closed his eyes. "First, I want to acknowledge the very great debt that I owe to all of you. Particularly to you." He nodded at Una. "Who could have imagined that Bryce Cousland's little daughter would turn out to be a warrior of such a caliber, or that she would have a heart big enough to save us all? I would like to reward you for what you have done for me and my family."

"No reward is necessary, my lord," Una said, bowing to him with her right arm clasped across her chest. "Your assistance against the Blight is all I could ask for."

"And you shall have it. But additionally I want to honor your efforts. All of you," he waved a hand to include the entire group, "are welcome at Redcliffe Castle at any time. And you will be considered champions of Redcliffe, honored wherever you shall go."

There was a murmured chorus of thank-yous. Leliana and Zev exchanged grins, wondering if the Arl would be so free with his thanks if he knew the true backgrounds of some of his saviors. As their gazes met, however, the look suddenly changed, becoming something more heated and meaningful. Zev found himself, unbelievably, flushing and looking away. He, Zevran, skilled lover that he was, undone by the red lips of an Orlesian bard! The Crows would be ashamed of him, he thought.

"Now," Eamon continued. "We need to decide what to do about Loghain." He turned to the fireplace, thinking. "I can spread word of his actions, both here and at Ostagar, but it will be my word against his. What we need is a claim to the throne that will be stronger than his daughter's." For the benefit of the foreigners in the room, he explained that Loghain's daughter Anora had been Cailan's queen, and it was she who retained the throne now that Cailan was dead. "We need a blood claim."

"You mean, Alistair?!" Teagan asked, shocked. He thought highly of the young man he had come to know in recent months, but to put an inexperienced boy like that on the throne? He hoped Eamon knew what he was doing.

"You and I, Teagan, have a claim to the throne by marriage, but we would look like opportunists if we pressed that claim, no better than Loghain. No, Alistair is the true heir to the throne and must be put forward if we are to have a chance to unseat Anora and take the country back."

"I think it's a great idea," Una put in. She hadn't considered Alistair's claim to the throne before, but put before her now, she wondered how it had escaped her. If she remembered her history right, he wasn't much younger than his father, King Maric, had been when he'd taken the throne, and she knew Alistair—he would put his heart and soul into protecting his country if he were put on the throne.

"What about me?" sputtered Alistair. "What about what I want?"

Eamon fixed him with a look. "If you don't agree, I will have to support Loghain," he said sorrowfully. "We cannot fight a civil war and a Blight at once, and without your claim to the throne, for the sake of Ferelden I would not have the heart to fight him. Is that what you want?"

Alistair tried to speak again, stammering something, then finally his shoulders sagged, and he said, "No, my lord."

"Very well." Eamon looked at Una. "I'll need to call the Landsmeet, talk to as many of them as I can, try and assemble our supporters. But I don't want to do that without your blessing. Do I have it?"

"My blessing?" She was confused. Why was one of the most important men in Ferelden looking at a young girl for her blessing?

"Surely you realize what a powerful figure you have become. You brought Alistair safely here; you have saved my entire family, braving the dangers of Andraste's long-forgotten temple; you saved the Circle of Magi … I will not move forward without your approval."

She nodded firmly. "You have it," she said. Alistair gasped behind her, and she could feel the outrage coming from him, but she ignored it. "Assemble the Landsmeet. I will go to Orzammar and get the last of the treaties ratified, and then return here. I trust that will give you enough time?"

"Yes," Eamon said. He looked from Una to Alistair and back again, obviously wondering, but decided not to ask. "That should be enough."

"Now, if you'll excuse us, my lord, I think my group could use a rest. It's been a long journey, and Haven wasn't exactly comfortable."

"Of course," said the Arl. "Whatever you need, just let us know."


	35. Nothing

Una bowed to the Arl again, and they all headed back to their rooms. The door had barely closed behind Alistair when he said hotly, "What were you thinking? 'That's a great idea'?!"

She sank down onto the bed, sighing. "Of course it's a great idea. And Arl Eamon was completely right—they need someone of the Theirin bloodline to challenge Anora's claim to the throne."

"And you just agree to this without even asking me what I want?"

"Darling, I know what you want. You want what's best for Ferelden. And right now, that's you."

He turned toward the window, seeing the castles he'd built in the air falling, one by one. "Nothing in my life ever goes the way I want it," he muttered.

"What was that?" He was so focused on his own unhappiness, he didn't hear the dangerous calmness in her tone.

"I said," he repeated loudly, "nothing in my life ever goes the way I want it."

There was silence behind him. It was so unlike her not to have a response that he turned back to look at her. Una's face had gone completely white, and her eyes were flashing. "Nothing," she repeated quietly. She bit her lip, taking a deep breath. "Nothing." She turned around, picking something up off the floor. When she handed it to him, he realized it was his pack. "Get. Out," she ground out between clenched teeth, unable to trust herself to say anything more.

"What?" He looked at her in surprise. She was more enraged than he had ever seen her. Then he realized what he had said. He paled. "Una, I didn't mean that. Not that way," he said in horror.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" she asked, still in that quiet tone. "You're right, that's so much nicer, that you didn't think enough of me to consider what you were saying." She thrust the pack forward again. "Seriously. Out. Now."

"No, Una, you have to let me explain," he said.

"I can't talk to you right now," she said, turning away from him. "I just … can't."

He frantically cast about for something to say, something to do—he knew if he left the room, the damage would be done and he was afraid it would be too late to fix it. "Practice field?" he said hopefully. "Rematch?"

She turned to look at him, studying him. "If I win, you go."

"And if I win, you let me explain."

"Fine."

They met on the practice field in the courtyard of the castle, both in full armor. Una had no intention of going easy on him this time.

Leliana had met Una in the hall and been drawn to watch. She'd seen this before, but never with such a grim look on her friend's face. Something was clearly wrong. Leliana followed the other woman, leaning on the stone wall around the castle walkway, watching as the two got set. A moment later, she felt a presence next to her.

"Full armor?" Zev murmured. "No jokes? It seems that something has gone awry in paradise."

"It does look like that," Leliana agreed. "I'm worried."

"You do not think they can work this out, whatever it may be, by fighting about it?"

"You didn't see the look on her face."

"I wonder what could have happened. Our beautiful Warden seemed able to forgive her lover anything," Zev said.

Leliana shrugged, her eyes focused on the two people getting into position on the field.

"Are you still not going to let me say anything?" Alistair called.

"What can you possibly say?" Una shouted back. She whirled the practice sword around her head, approaching him as he set his stance, shield up.

"I could apologize." He ducked the blow and stabbed forward with his sword. Una easily parried the thrust.

"What good would that do?"

"I could apologize really, really thoroughly," he said suggestively.

She swung her sword at his midsection. "I don't think sex is going to do it," she said. "Not this time."

On the walkway, Eamon and Teagan had joined the watching rogues. "What are they doing?" Eamon asked.

Without taking her eyes off the combat, Leliana said, "Having an argument."

"With swords?"

"They make each other laugh too easily to fight with words," Zev explained, his attention also fully focused on the two fighters.

"Wait," said Eamon. "Are they—?"

Teagan laughed. "You haven't spent enough time with them, brother. They are very much so."

"Alistair … and Bryce Cousland's daughter?" Eamon shook his head. "That's a pairing I never would have expected."

"They go well together, actually," Teagan said.

"Who usually wins when they do this?" Eamon asked the two rogues.

"Neither one ever has. It has always been a draw," Zevran said.

"Alistair won once," Leliana said, her cheeks reddening slightly.

"She had a knife at his throat!" Zev exclaimed. "She won." Their eyes met in a mixture of heat and embarrassment as they realized they had both seen the same intimate moment.

"Hm," Eamon said speculatively. "Twenty silvers on Alistair."

"Done," Teagan and Zev said simultaneously.

"Of course, that's assuming they don't kill each other. Are they usually this vicious?" Teagan asked, watching Una's sword catch Alistair in the side. The blow clearly hurt, as Alistair staggered before striking back at her.

"No," Zev said shortly, his attention now focused on the battle before them.

Down on the field, Alistair got set again, parrying her next blow with his shield. "It was a slip of the tongue, Una," he panted.

"A slip of the tongue?!" she exclaimed. Rushing forward, she hit him with a flurry of blows. It was as much as he could do to block them, and he fell back under the attack. "You called what we have 'nothing', and that's supposed to be okay with me because it was a 'slip of the tongue'? I've given you my body, my heart, and my soul, and you call that nothing? But I'm not supposed to be hurt by that, because it was a 'slip of the tongue'." Their blades crossed. "Don't you get it? Don't you realize that makes it worse?" She shoved him away from her. "You're so focused on everything you never had that you can't even see what you do have, much less appreciate it." She raised the sword, pommel up. "I am not your consolation for everything you never had!" she shouted, biting off each word, and struck out with the pommel as hard as she could, knocking him off his feet.

He lay on the ground, the wind completely knocked out of him.

Her face working, struggling not to cry, Una walked over to him. "I was prepared to fight as hard for us as I had to. I'd have fought the Landsmeet, I'd have fought the Archdemon itself for you." She dropped the practice sword on the ground, struggling to speak around the lump in her throat. "But I can't keep fighting you." She turned on her heel, walking away, as behind her he scrambled to his feet.

"Una, stop!" Alistair called, running after her. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to a halt. "I thought you loved me. We promised ourselves to each other."

She didn't turn around. "I do love you," she said with difficulty. "That hasn't changed. Nor will it. And I belong to you. I couldn't change that if I wanted to. But I can't be with you, Alistair," she said, turning to him at last. "Not as long as you see me as some cheap trinket filling in the empty place left by all the dreams that never came true. I deserve better than that." She wrenched her arm from his grasp and started to walk away again.

Alistair watched her go, feeling as though his heart was being torn from his body. The only person in his life who had ever truly loved him, who had seen him for who he was and loved him for it, was leaving him, and there seemed to be nothing he could do about it. Then a surge of anger flooded through him. What kind of man was he, to sit passively by watching other people determine the course of his life? Was he really going to just let her go, without even trying to stop her? Is that what Duncan would have done, watched something he cared about walk out of his life? No, he'd have fought for it. He had to admit that she was right—she'd been the strong one, standing there firm and stalwart while he wavered all over the place, and she deserved better than that. "Please don't do this," he begged. "Una?" He prayed to the Maker that she would stop. "Please!"

"Alistair, let it go," she said dully. "It's probably for the best anyway."

"I can't let it go," he said. "I can't let you go. Not ever. Please give me another chance." He stripped his gauntlets off, dropping them on the ground with a clatter, reaching for her hand.

Una allowed him to turn her around. "And then what?" she asked. "The next time something goes wrong, have you go all mopey again and treat me like I'm part of the 'nothing that ever goes right'?"

"I swear to you, never again," he said. "Never, do you hear me?" He took her by the shoulders.

She laughed bitterly, struggling against her own heart, which wanted nothing more than to give in. "Right. You say that now."

"I say it now," he said. "I mean it. Look at me, Una." His voice was firmer than she'd ever heard it, and she lifted her eyes to look into his. "I love you," he said. "I need you. I don't want to be without you. Ever."

She shrugged. "You've said all that before, and you still thought of me as 'nothing.'"

"I am so sorry I said that. It's not what I meant. I just thought … if I have to be king, what does that mean for us? Could we still be together?"

"I'm a Cousland!" she said indignantly. "My family has a higher rank and a longer bloodline in Ferelden nobility than Anora's. Why on earth couldn't we be together?"

"Children," he said. "It's difficult enough for one Grey Warden to have a child, much less two of them, with each other. I'd need to have an heir if I was to have to be king."

She drew in her breath swiftly. "I hadn't thought of that."

"That's what I meant. I thought having to be put on the throne would mean giving up all my dreams of a life with you," he said hoarsely. He looked away for a moment. "Okay, and I was bitter with you for agreeing that I was a good choice for the throne. You know I never wanted to be king, not in my wildest dreams. To have you say you thought it was a great idea … it felt like a betrayal, do you see?"

"I guess I do," she said unwillingly. "It didn't hurt any less, for all of that."

Alistair said, "I never meant to hurt you. But I realized something while you were beating me up out there."

"What's that?" she asked.

"That I don't care what the Landsmeet says, or if it ought to be my duty to marry someone who isn't a Grey Warden so I can provide an heir." His grip on her shoulders tightened. "I want to marry you, Una Cousland. To spend our nights trying our hardest to have children together. And even if that never happens, to enjoy every day we have with each other until our Calling comes."

Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. "Really?"

"Really."

"And I don't have to try to talk you into being with me any more?"

"No. I promise." Alistair looked into her eyes, trying to see if he had reached her.

Una looked down, blinking the tears back. "Alistair? There's just one more thing," she whispered.

"What's that, my love?" He lifted her chin tenderly.

"Do you admit that I beat you, fair and square?" She grinned.

He threw back his head, laughing. "All right, all right, I admit it. You won. This time."

As Alistair and Una embraced in the courtyard, the four people leaning on the stone wall stood up. "So who won, then?" Eamon asked.

"I believe Una won the battle," Zev said. He glanced at Leliana, and something in her eyes held his.

"But Alistair won the war," she said.

Eamon dug in his pockets, paying Teagan and Zev their winnings, then the two older men walked off together. Leliana started to walk away as well, but Zev caught her arm.

"What is it?" she asked, looking into the elf's brown eyes.

"I admit that our Wardens have inspired me," he said hesitantly.

"They have?"

Without answering, Zev leaned gently forward, his lips brushing Leliana's. She gasped in surprise, her lips parting, and his tongue darted lightly between them. He tried his best not to use his practiced skills, to simply act naturally, but it was very difficult. It had been such a long time since he had kissed someone because he wanted to, rather than because he wanted something from them.

When the kiss ended, the two of them looked at each other, taking each other's measure all over again. This was a new way to look at very practiced skills for both of them, and though neither of them would admit it, they were frightened.

In the courtyard, another couple was sharing a kiss, but with considerably less trepidation and far more familiarity. Una's hands threaded through Alistair's hair, holding him close to her. But the armor got in the way of how much closer she'd like to get. She broke away. "Alistair?"

"Yes?" He drew the word out slowly.

"Take me to bed."

He grinned. "Your desire is my command."

In their bedroom, they stripped off their armor and their undergear and got into bed. "I'm sorry I wouldn't let you explain," she said, snuggling close to him.

"You did tell me I'd have to hit you over the head to make a point." He stroked her bare back, the skin silky-smooth under his hands. "Of course," he said, reflecting, "I'm the one who got beaten over the head. I think next time it will have to be my turn to win." He slid his leg between hers, pressing his thigh up against her.

Una gasped at the sensation. "Don't expect me to let you win," she said, trailing her mouth over the muscles of his shoulder.

"You mean like I let you win down there?" He shifted so she lay below him, nipping at the base of her neck.

"That won't fly," she said. "You lost, and you admitted it. It's too late now to be changing your story." She reached down between them, caressing his length, feeling his body tremble against hers.

"Not playing fair," he gasped, burying his face in her hair. Laughing softly, she guided him inside her, arching up as he began his rhythmic movements. And then words were beyond both of them for some time.


	36. Guerrins

The next morning, after they finished breakfast, Una went off to see to the final provisioning before they headed back into the Frostbacks—the northern portion this time, toward Orzammar. Arl Eamon caught up with Alistair as the young warrior was carrying a load of clean laundry back to their bedroom.

"I wanted to thank you for everything you and your companions have done," Eamon said, studying the face before him. It had so much of the little boy that he remembered, but also much that was new. Eamon kept trying to remember that the boy was a full-grown man, a Grey Warden, now.

"No, my lord," Alistair said. "I am the one who should be thanking you. I know you didn't have to take me in, and I appreciate everything you did for me."

"That's not what you said the last time I saw you," Eamon said with a chuckle.

"I was young and angry and completely miserable. I hated the Chantry and never wanted to be a Templar."

"I'm sorry we sent you there. It was a difficult time, and I—should have fought harder for you."

Alistair shrugged. "She's your wife. She had a right to ask that I be removed, and I don't blame either of you for it. Not anymore."

Eamon nodded. "Thank you, my boy."

"I also wanted to thank you for repairing my mother's amulet." When the Arl shot him a surprised look, Alistair explained, somewhat uncomfortably, "Una found it in your desk when we were here before. Looking for vellum, I think. And she gave it to me. I— I felt so stupid for so long, having broken the only thing I had that was my mother's. I couldn't believe you had put so much effort into repairing it."

"I knew you would regret that. I brought it with me when I came to see you at the Chantry, but when you wouldn't see me … I put it in the desk, assuming I would give it to you some other time."

"It means a lot that you kept it. Thank you, ser."

Eamon clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "About … Una," he began.

"Yes?"

"This is serious?"

"Of course!"

Eamon nodded. "I'm glad to hear it. She's turned into quite a woman. I knew her parents very well. I am devastated to hear of their deaths, especially in such a horrible manner." He took a deep breath. "Bryce Cousland would have approved of you heartily, I imagine." He laughed suddenly. "I think he had despaired of ever finding someone who could handle her. She was—a terror. Spoiled rotten, of course. But the apple of their eyes."

"She has said as much," Alistair said. "That her parents would approve of me. I find it … hard to believe."

"The Couslands were people of great integrity. They looked for the worth of a person, not for wealth or power, or even blood. If you make their daughter happy and treat her well, as you appear to do, and are a man of honor, as I know you are, that is all they would ask for." Eamon looked seriously at Alistair. "In her father's stead, I do feel it incumbent upon me to ask your intentions."

Alistair met the Arl's eyes with no trace of self-consciousness. "Obviously this is a difficult time to make any kind of plans for the future. After all, none of us exactly knows that we'll have one. But whether I have a day, a year, or a lifetime, I intend to spend it with her."

"Glad to hear it," Eamon said. "I can't say I would have predicted you and the little Cousland girl would end up together, but there's quite a bit about this situation I would never have predicted. Much of it seems to be turning out well, because of the pair of you. I think Ferelden will have reason to be proud of you both."

"Thank you, ser," Alistair said. The two men continued down the hallway, making up for the lost years.

Meanwhile, Una was in the courtyard looking over piles of supplies. Arlessa Isolde came out with a heavy bag of vegetables over her arm.

"Thank you, my lady," Una said briefly, hoping the Arlessa would think she was distracted by her task. She didn't feel up to talking to the woman.

"Lady Cousland," Isolde began.

"Please, it's just Una. Lady Cousland … was my mother."

"I am sorry about that. I remember Teyrna Eleanor. She was an exceptional woman."

"She was." Una bent down, tying off the top of a sack.

"I wanted to thank you for what you've done for me and my family."

Una straightened, looking the Arlessa in the eye. "I did it because it was the right thing to do. Because I have fond memories of the Arl. Because I've seen enough death. And because Alistair needed me to. If you must thank someone, thank him. It would be long, long overdue."

Isolde swallowed, looking away. "You think I've been unfair to him."

"To say the least."

"It was … difficult. They never told me who his father was, you see, and so many people whispered to me that he was Eamon's child. I had such a hard time having Connor, I couldn't stand the idea that there was another son of Eamon's hanging around the castle. His very presence taunted me," she said in a near-whisper.

"So you had him sent away."

"I never thought about it from his perspective. Does that make me a bad person? I suppose you think so." Isolde's eyes hardened. "In your youth and your new love, all you can see is him, and what he went through."

"Possibly. But you still resent him, and you don't have those excuses." Una crossed her arms, looking down at the Arlessa.

"What would you have done? He came back at the same time that I was realizing I was going to lose my boy to the Circle of Magi. It was as though I could never get rid of him, as though he was always going to be here, tormenting me."

"I suppose I can see that." Una looked curiously at the other woman. "Now that you know who his real father was, does it change anything?"

"It does. It explains much about Eamon and Teagan's attitudes toward him. You see, their sister was the Queen. She and Maric … they had great respect and affection for one another, but they never loved each other. That much I know. Both of them had loved other people, but they came together for Ferelden. And even though the Queen was dead by the time Alistair was conceived …" Isolde shrugged. "I think they still felt that his existence was a betrayal of her. But they are good men, and they cared for him as well as they could. Until I entered the picture."

"I see," Una said. "And now? Does his presence still taunt you?"

"No."

"Perhaps, sometime, you could tell him that."

Isolde nodded. "Perhaps sometime I could."


	37. Orzammar

They left the next morning, traveling north into the Frostbacks until they reached the gates of Orzammar. Mercenaries were waiting for them in the sprawling tent city outside the dwarven stronghold. They took out the mercenaries and approached the massive doors that sealed off the city. The guard at the gate was in the middle of a heated argument with another group of humans who claimed to have been sent by Loghain himself. Ignoring them, Una walked up to the guard, handing him the Grey Warden treaty.

The guard looked it over. "This is the royal seal," he said. "But we have no king to hear you, Grey Warden. King Endrin Aeducan returned to the Stone some weeks ago."

"Is there anyone in there who can authorize the troops we need?" Una asked. "We face a Blight!"

"You can't let this traitor in here! She's a disgrace to her country, and King Loghain is looking for her," protested the leader of the other humans. He kept making a big deal out of being King Loghain's messenger.

"King Loghain?!" Alistair sputtered. "When did that happen?"

"Peace, Alistair," Una said. "These things will be set right." Her steely tone drew a speculative look from the dwarven guard, while the messenger continued to rant.

"Fight with each other all you want," growled the guard, "but take it off my sodding doorstep."

Una nodded, and both groups moved away from the doors to an open area, where they joined battle. There was little doubt as to the eventual outcome of the fight, and before too long she and her team stood in front of the guard again. "May we enter now?"

"I have to thank you, Warden. That group had been here jabbering at me for two weeks. Glad to have them gone." He motioned behind him, and two silent soldiers began working a complicated series of locks. The giant doors swung smoothly open. "You may enter, Warden, but I don't know what there is waiting for you inside. Orzammar has seen better days."

And they went in through the doors. Zev and Alistair and Wynne were accompanying Una, while Leliana and Grenli and Morrigan stayed outside with the community of surface dwarves.

Orzammar's ceilings stretched high above their heads, creating the illusion of an infinite space. As they explored, listening to the talk of the dwarves around them, they were all amazed at the sheer size of the place, the opulence of the carvings, the busy bustle everywhere. Clearly there was tension—they witnessed several fights between supporters of the two main candidates for the throne and were the target of a fair amount of suspicion themselves.

They'd been inside Orzammar for several hours when Una became aware of a strange buzzing in her skin. It was faint enough that she could only feel it when they were paused, but it was definitely there. She caught herself rubbing her arm, trying to discover the source of the feeling.

Alistair murmured quietly in her ear, "You feel it, too?"

"A tingling sensation?"

He nodded. "I was hoping it was just being near you." But his grin was tense.

"You think it's the taint?"

"That's my suspicion. I wonder what it's like in the Deep Roads."

"Maybe we won't have to find out," she said optimistically.

"Right," he said. "Because things are always that easy."

After quite a bit of talking and asking questions, it became clear that in order to get any troops to fulfill the treaty, they were going to have to help resolve Orzammar's political struggle and find a king to put on the throne. The two main candidates seemed to be the dead king's only surviving son, or a lord who had been the king's close friend. The son, Bhelen, was generally considered to have been responsible for the murder of his eldest brother and the subsequent exile of his middle brother, but most thought he would make a strong king and many seemed to feel that he would end a lot of the old ways, bringing Orzammar into the modern age. The other candidate, Lord Harrowmont, seemed a nice person, and honorable, but the consensus thought he would make a weak king who did not have the strength necessary to keep the Assembly in line.

The four of them gave it a great deal of consideration. Wynne was suspicious of Bhelen, while Zevran had open scorn for Harrowmont and was downright insistent that they support the stronger candidate. Eventually, Una decided she agreed with the elf, and they consented to help put Bhelen on the throne. At first, this just entailed talking to various nobles, but eventually they were asked to go down into Dust Town, the poorer quarter of the city, and take out a criminal carta that had taken hold there. Una wasn't happy about it, but what choice did she have?

They spent the next day exploring Dust Town, eventually finding the carta's hideout and taking out most of its members. The leader, Jarvia, was hidden deep within a warren of rooms and tunnels, and proved surprisingly challenging, but eventually they defeated her, as well, and returned to Prince Bhelen in the royal palace. Una was hoping Bhelen would promise the troops at this meeting, but instead he made it clear that his position on the throne was by no means secured. In order to cement his place as Orzammar's next king, he needed the approval of the dwarves' only living Paragon, the equivalent of a god. Branka, the Paragon, had disappeared into the Deep Roads two years ago, and if she was still alive, Bhelen needed her to endorse him as the right candidate for the throne. So there it was—they'd be off to the Deep Roads the next day, ready to find this Paragon and drag her back to Orzammar, if need be.

After dinner, everyone retired to their rooms. Una assumed it would be a long, tiring day (at least) in the Deep Roads, and asked that everyone get a decent night's sleep before heading out. She and Alistair went back to their room—one of the few available in Orzammar that was outfitted with furnishings the right size for humans. Sighing, Una began to strip off her armor and padding. As she took her undergear off, she heard Alistair suck in a horrified breath behind her.

"Maker's blood!" he said, coming toward her and gently touching a spot on her back.

Una winced. "What did you do?" she asked.

"I think it's you who did something. Your back is all black and blue. Are you sure you're all right?"

"I should be. I used enough health poultices and injury kits today to choke an ogre."

"I'm going to run you a bath," he said, gesturing to the giant stone tub in the back of the room. "And you're going to soak in it until that bruise feels better."

Una looked over at the tub, then back at her lover. She raised an eyebrow. "Only if you get in with me."

Alistair caught his breath as he felt the heat spread through him. "That does have possibilities," he murmured huskily. He started the hot water—an advantage of the lava all throughout Orzammar, the hot running water—and hastily stripped off his armor.

Una was in the tub by the time he finished, her eyes already gone green and hazy with desire. Alistair slid into the tub facing her, reaching out to draw her closer to him. She hooked her legs over his thighs, leaning forward into his kiss. They kissed hungrily, hands exploring each other, the heat of the water mingling with the heat in their blood. Una moaned, her head falling back as Alistair leaned forward, his mouth on her throat, his hands caressing her wet breasts.

Sliding his hands down over her sides, he lifted her and she sank oh, so slowly down onto him, her thighs tensing, both of them gasping. The water swirled around them as they rocked together, their breath coming faster and faster as their passions rose to a pinnacle.

They held on to each other as their bodies and the water began to cool. "Did that help your back?" Alistair murmured.

"Not as much as a good night's sleep will," Una said.

He nibbled the side of her neck. "I hear Grey Wardens don't need much sleep," he suggested.

"They do if they're about to go into the Deep Roads. I suspect that'll be hardest on us," she said. "Much as I hate to make you stop doing that," she sighed, arching her neck to give him better access.

"I could finish this first."

"That might lead to a lot more time-intensive activities," she said, regretfully getting up to dry herself off.

"You are no fun," Alistair pouted.

"Try me once we get out of Orzammar."

"Count on it."


	38. Ruck

The next day, they got up and headed for the entrance to the Deep Roads. As they walked toward the guards stationed there, a red-headed dwarf who reeked of really low-quality dwarven ale stepped out in front of them. Una remembered meeting him yesterday in the tavern. He'd said his name was Oghren, and that Branka, the missing Paragon, was his wife.

"You're the Grey Warden?" he asked drunkenly.

"Don't you remember?"

"So I did talk to you yesterday? I thought that was just the drink."

"No, it was me. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Yeah. Take me with you."

"Into the Deep Roads? Does that actually sound like a good idea to you?"

"She's my wife, Warden," the dwarf said angrily. "And I know what she's looking for, which should help you find her."

Una studied the dwarf intently. "Can you fight?"

"Aye!" Oghren growled. "Hand me a sword, and I'll fight like a sodding bronto."

"All right. You're in. Just … don't breathe near me, will you?" She wrinkled her nose.

They stepped through the line of guards and started into the Deep Roads.

As they walked, the dwarf took continued slugs from a tankard in his hand. He looked around the group, finally holding the tankard out to Wynne. The mage looked at him warily. "Do you want me to … drink that?"

"I don't want you to sodding piss in it! Try it, mage. Or are you not woman enough for dwarven ale?" Wynne took the tankard, sipping from it, then taking a healthy swig.

Oghren clapped her on the back. "Ah, Wynne, there's dwarf in you somewhere."

"That's not bad," Wynne said, taking another swallow. "What is that spice? Is that … cloves?"

"By the Stone!" Oghren exclaimed. "A woman who knows her ale. You and me are going to have some fun together!"

Una and Alistair glanced at each other. He shook his head. "Who would have guessed?" She shrugged.

Being in the Deep Roads was as distracting as they had feared it would be. The faint tingling under Una's skin had grown more insistent. Instead of being something she noticed occasionally, it was now a constant, claiming her attention whenever she wasn't otherwise distracted. Alistair said he felt the same.

They fought their way through the ancient, crumbling Caridin's Cross area, and finally made their way to Ortan Thaig, where everyone assumed Branka would be found. She wasn't there, and the area was overrun by giant spiders. There they also found the boy Ruck. They'd met Ruck's mother in Orzammar, mourning for her lost son, and she had asked them to search for him.

Ruck was twisted and bent and made Una's skin tingle even more, so filled was he with the taint. Apparently he had been surviving by eating the darkspawn flesh. Una approached him cautiously.

"Mine!" he screamed, backing away from her. "You can't take the shinies!"

"Ruck, I don't want to take anything from you," Una said softly, persuasively. "I just want to talk."

He eyed her suspiciously. "Pretty lady," he said. "Pretty lady not take shiny things? Pretty lady just talk?"

"Yes, Ruck. Just talk."

"Ruck not mind that. Ruck can see darkness inside pretty lady. Makes Ruck sad, that darkness should have pretty lady."

Una shivered. It was true—the same taint possessed both of them. It was frightening to think she could become like that. She glanced at Alistair, who was staring at the dwarf pityingly. He didn't seem as disturbed as she was by the comparison, though, she noticed.

"Is your mother named Filda?" she asked Ruck gently.

"No! No Filda! No soft pillows and pretty songs and nice mother. Ruck not—not deserve," shrieked the dwarf, near tears.

"She misses you, Ruck."

"No, Filda cannot know. Promise Filda not know. Promise it!"

"I promise. I'll … Do you want me to tell her you're dead?"

"Yes, that's it!" His face brightened. "Tell Filda Ruck is dead. The dark things crunch his bones."

"I will. Ruck, was Branka here?"

"Many people here. Spiders come, they take the paper and the metal, the shinies and the words."

"Words and paper?" Oghren said quietly. "Branka must have been here. The spiders must have her journal. Paper would never have survived from the original thaig."

"Ruck," Una said, feeling helpless. She hated to leave him here like this. "Is there … anything I can do for you?"

"Pretty lady fight darkness?" Una nodded. Ruck did, too, looking satisfied. "Pretty lady win against darkness. That make Ruck happy."

"I will, Ruck. I'll win against the darkness." The ruin of the boy in front of her had Una near tears.

Alistair reached out, his hand closing gently on her shoulder. "We need to keep going," he said gently. He pulled her away, leaving Ruck staring after them.

The memory of the twisted little dwarf stayed with Una for a long time. Something about him had tugged at her heart-strings, and it burned in her that she couldn't do anything to help him.

Eventually they found Branka's journal, after killing more spiders than they could count. The journal pointed them on to the Dead Trenches, an area so far into the Deep Roads that even Oghren had never heard of it. Wearily, the party trooped on ahead. All the surface dwellers were beginning to feel oppressed by the darkness and the lack of fresh air and trees. And as they moved farther, coming closer to the Dead Trenches, the tingling in Una's skin became more intense. She found herself longing to take off her armor and just scratch at her skin, until it came off, if that was what it would take to make it stop, and from Alistair's fidgeting, she guessed he was feeling the same.

The farther they went, the stronger it got, until it felt like her skin was burning. "Alistair," she said, looking over at him desperately, but there was no help there. He was clearly as miserable as she was. She turned to ask Wynne for some kind of frost spell, even if only for momentary relief, when a loud scream filled the cavern they were in. It seemed to reverberate in Una's ears, and she could almost hear words in it. She strained to try and understand them as the scream continued, but they hovered just out of reach. Then, as her eyes cleared, she saw it. The great dragon circling at the top of the cavern. "The Archdemon," she breathed, all else momentarily forgotten.

"Wardens." Zev's voice was sharp enough to cut through the burning and the scream. Una looked at him, shaking her head to clear it. The elf was pointing down into the depths of the rock, and she went over to him, steadying herself with a hand on his shoulder, and looked over the precipice. And gasped. No wonder their skin was burning. The trenches below were filled with darkspawn, hurlocks and genlocks and shrieks and ogres shoulder to shoulder as far as she could see in the dimness of the cavern. She reached out with her other hand for Alistair, as the Archdemon landed on a ruined tower on the other side of the trench and screamed again.

At last the darkspawn were gone, the Archdemon flying off behind the ranks of tainted warriors, and Una buried her face in Alistair's metal-covered shoulder. "Holy Maker, Alistair, how do they expect us to fight that?" she said despairingly.

"Remember," he whispered, "that we won't be alone. Dwarves and elves and mages and Arl Eamon's troops …"

"Not to mention the intrepid band of brigands you have collected," Zev broke in.

"We are not to be trifled with," Wynne added serenely.

"By the sodding Stone, Warden, if that's what you're up against, you'll need a dwarf at your back," Oghren bellowed.

Una looked at all of them, trying to muster a smile, but it was all so overwhelming. "You're all very sweet. But what are you doing here, following a 19-year-old girl, when there's a Blight in the offing?!" Her voice rose, not entirely in jest.

"Because you're the tallest, so you'll block the Archdemon's view of the rest of us?" Alistair suggested, grinning.

"My dear, we follow you because we believe you will win." The mage raised her staff, casting a spell, and Una felt blessed coolness on her burning skin.

"We're wasting time," Oghren snapped. "Let's go find my bleedin' wife and get on about this Blight business."

"Indeed," said Zev. "I am finding myself quite intrigued to meet this … Branka."

"Elf, you lay one sodding paw on that woman, and I'll …" Oghren brandished his battleaxe.

"What is it with all you men and the jealousy?" Zev asked plaintively. "Can none of you share?"

And they moved on into the Dead Trenches. But Una couldn't get the sight and sound of the Archdemon out of her head, or the sinking feeling that for all their hard work, the Blight had defeated them before it was even fully begun.

Alistair walked behind her, watching her. Truth be told, he'd been nearly as overwhelmed by the giant river of darkspawn as she had. But since he was the one who had put her in front, forced her to lead this quest against the darkness, he knew his job: to stand behind her and catch her when she faltered. And if that meant pretending a confidence he didn't feel—well, wasn't that the least he could do for her?


	39. Hespith

Far into the Dead Trenches, they came to a crumbling bridge. On the near side was a company of black-armored, much-tattooed dwarves who were under attack by a band of darkspawn coming from the far side. Una and her crew rushed into the battle, taking out wave after wave, then crossing the bridge to finish off a band of genlock archers and two ogres. As Una climbed down from the chest of the second ogre after wrenching her hammer out of the remnants of its skull, she saw one of the black-armored dwarves approaching her.

“Never seen a surfacer fight like that,” he growled. “Never seen a surfacer down this far at all.”

“I’m Una. Grey Warden.”

“That explains it, then. Kardol. Legion of the Dead.” At her questioning look, he said, “We die to our families so we can fight without fear. We are the reason the surface sees so few Blights.”

“I see. So this is like a vacation for you, then?”

“You could say that. They don’t all go, though, as you’ve seen. Makes it easier to clear more space, anyway.”

“Kardol, do you know where the Anvil of the Void is? Or the Paragon Branka?”

“Good luck finding either of those down here, salroka,” he grunted. “What’s a Grey Warden doing down here chasing fantasies when there’s a Blight on the surface?”

“Trying to get Orzammar a king so I can get some troops.”

Kardol laughed. “You’ve got to give it to those bastards. They know their stuff, if they can get a Grey Warden to hop to their tune. I tell you what, Grey Warden—you put an ass in the throne, you’ll have the Legion at your back when you go up against the Archdemon.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Una said, bowing before the dwarf.

“Always thought I’d like to see the sky before I eat stone,” Kardol muttered, turning away and going back to his men. “Best of luck to you, salroka!” he called over his shoulder.

They moved farther on, finding that as they went the walls and floors began to be covered in stinking lumps of rotting flesh.

“Someone needs to do a better job of housecleaning down here,” Alistair muttered, removing his boot from a particularly large excrescence.

A room opened up before them, and inside it they found a blonde dwarf kneeling down. Was she eating that stuff? Una wondered, feeling queasy. The dwarf was muttering something under her breath, like a chant.

“Who are you?” Una asked quietly, walking toward the dwarf, trying not to startle her.

The other woman stood up, turning to look at them. Her body was twisted, the way Ruck’s had been, and her eyes were faded almost to white. Oghren gave a sharp hiss as he saw her face, stepping back so the other dwarf wouldn’t see him. The blonde dwarf looked up. “No, no,” she muttered. “This is not possible. I am cruel to myself—waking brings only clan and feeding. Never strangers.”

“We’re very real,” Una said. “Are you all right? What’s your name?”

“Hespith,” sighed the woman. “Dream-friend, you must not stay. They will come and they will feed you. As they fed Laryn. As they feed me.”

“Feed you? What do you mean? Who is Laryn?”

“They took her first. I let them, wanted it to be her turn. Never mine. They fed her and fed her. First their flesh, then those of our house. She tore her husband’s face off and drank his blood.” Everyone listening shuddered at that, and Alistair and Zev both took a step back, nearly falling over Oghren. “And then she grew.” Hespith looked up into Una’s face. “GREW, do you hear me?”

“I hear you. Are you—are you from Branka’s house?”

“Branka?! No. Must not think about Branka. Branka, my love,” whispered Hespith. “Branka, who allowed. Branka, who encouraged.”

Una’s eyebrows shot up. This certainly explained any questions she might have had about why Branka left Oghren behind. “Hespith,” she said. “Can we help you?”

Hespith shook her head. Her whole body wagged back and forth with the force of the movement. “No, dream-friend. I am dying. Dying of … betrayal.” She looked up at Una again. “If you see her, be merciful.” And she was gone.

“Merciful to whom?” Una wondered aloud. “Laryn? Or Branka?”

As they went forward, the lumps of flesh spread over more of the walls and floor and became almost impossible to avoid. They could also hear something ahead, a squelching thick roaring noise that sounded vaguely like words. Oghren looked as though he understood some of them, but he wasn’t translating.

Rounding a corner, they saw her. It. A huge grey mass of rotted flesh, with numerous drooping mammaries and flailing red tentacles all over the room. This? This had been a dwarf? Una shuddered in revulsion and would have been sick had there been time. They went forward to the attack, blades slicing into decaying meat. At last, with a thundering quake and a great gaseous emission, the Broodmother collapsed.

Una stood, shaking, looking at it, this thing that had once been a person. Hespith had suggested that this was what women could expect at the hands of the darkspawn. But Branka had not been … fed. What was the difference?

She felt a soft touch on her shoulders and Alistair drew her back against his chest. “Are you all right?”

“Is that why Grey Wardens don’t have children?” she asked quietly. “Because the women turn into … that?” She turned to look at him.

Alistair shrugged uncomfortably. “I really don’t know. It’s … not something that ever came up. I’ve never even heard of these things.”

Her shoulders slumped. “I’ll expect you to kill me if it ever looks like I’m going to turn into … that. Because if you don’t, you’re the first one I’m eating.”

“Right. Got it.” He opened his mouth to make a joke, but thought better of it.

“Oghren!” Una barked. “Let’s go find this woman-chasing wife of yours. If I have to, I’ll beat an endorsement out of her,” she said grimly, stalking off down a corridor.

Oghren elbowed Alistair in the ribs. “I’d pay good money to see that fight,” he said, chuckling heartily. “Your woman’s damn near as crazy as mine.”

Alistair raised an eyebrow. It was the first time anyone had referred to Una as ‘his woman.’ He suspected she wouldn’t like it at all, but he found it quite exciting. “Between you and me, Oghren, I might put down a sovereign or two myself.”

“That’s the spirit, boy!”


	40. Branka

They walked into a large cavern, better-lit than many they had been in down here. As soon as Zev, at the back of the group, had cleared the doorway, it crumbled in on itself. A loud laugh rang out in the cavern.

“You thought you could take it from me, but you’ll be getting it for me instead.” A large, strong female dwarf came out from the shadows onto a ledge above their heads.

“By the Stone!” Oghren exclaimed. “Branka?”

“Oghren,” the woman said calmly, and with no surprise. “You finally found someone willing to listen to your drunken ranting, did you?” Her eyes took in the armored group in front of her. “Or is this some princely hireling, down here to fetch me so I can put some worthless imbecile on the throne?”

“Watch your tongue, woman,” Oghren said. “This is a Grey Warden.”

“Ah, an important messenger, then,” Branka scoffed. “It makes no difference. Without the Anvil, our empire will crumble, no matter which lapdog rots on the throne.”

“Look,” Una said, in no mood for more fencing, “all I want is your endorsement. Say something, anything I can interpret to mean support, and then we’ll head back to Orzammar and you can go off and get your Anvil in peace.”

Branka threw back her head and laughed. “An honest approach, anyway. But I think you’ll find it isn’t that easy.”

“Nothing ever is,” Una grumbled, half to herself.

“You see, Caridin, who made the Anvil, protected it with a series of traps. I have thrown everyone I had, and everyone Laryn could create, at them, and cannot get through. But you! You will get through,” Branka crowed. “Because there is no other way out.”

“Everyone Laryn could create?” Una whispered. “You mean, you— Hespith was right to ask me to be merciful,” she said, her lip curling in disgust. “For her sake, I won’t have you cut down where you stand. But only for her sake.”

“Hespith?” Branka said, a wild hope in her eyes. “You saw my Hespith? She lives?”

“If you can call it that,” Alistair said.

Branka’s eyes flickered to the warrior, then moved back to Una. “Hespith asked you to be merciful to me, did she?” She laughed bitterly. “It is too late for mercy.”

“Branka, what has this place done to you?” Oghren cried. “I remember a girl you could talk to for one minute and see her brilliance.”

The corners of Branka’s mouth curled up in a mocking smile. “I am your Paragon,” she said, and withdrew into the shadows.

“Another challenge,” sighed Una.

“Another crazy person,” said Alistair. “We seem to attract them.”

Oghren shook his head. “I don’t know what’s the matter with her. The Branka I knew would never—not her own house!” He looked dazed.

“What kind of traps do you think they are?” Wynne asked practically.

Una shrugged. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

In fact, the traps proved remarkably easy. A few golems, a couple of blade traps that Zev easily disabled, a gas chamber, and a giant cauldron that spit spirits out until all four of its faces had been hit twice with a strange-looking cannon, and the way forward lay clear. Una looked sorrowfully back at the broken cauldron. “This,” she said. “An entire house was decimated, women turned into unspeakable abominations spewing forth darkspawn, all because some supposedly brilliant Paragon went insane and couldn’t figure out this?” She sighed. “We’ve seen a lot of tragedy, but this is by far the most senseless. If the dwarves have a hell, I hope Branka rots in it. Tortured, miserably, the way Laryn was. Or Hespith.” Una bit her lip, looking over at the red-headed dwarf who accompanied them. “I’m sorry, Oghren.”

He grunted. “Sodding Anvil’s addled her mind. But she always was off her rock. It’s what I loved about her.” He sniffed loudly and walked forward into the giant cavern ahead. Inside stood rows of golems with a single, massive golem at their head.

The giant golem moved his head with a rusty squeaking sound in what might have been a nod as Una approached it. “Greetings. I am Caridin.”

“The Caridin? Of Caridin’s Cross?”

“Yes.” Caridin went on to explain that after creating the Anvil of the Void to forge golems out of stone, and using the life essence of dwarves to animate them, he himself had become a victim of the Anvil, doomed to spend eternity deep in Thedas as a golem. He begged them to destroy the Anvil, a request Una was happy to honor … but the discussion was interrupted by Branka rushing forward, screaming at all of them.

“NO! The Anvil is mine! I will not let you take it from me!”

“Branka, you mad bleeding nug-tail!” Oghren bellowed. “Let the Anvil go! Can’t you see what you’ve lost to get it?”

She ignored him entirely, brandishing a control rod, bending the wills of the golems to her own. And so there was another battle, Una’s team against Branka and the golems. Una took great pleasure in taking the final blow that crushed Branka’s skull. She only wished it hadn’t come too late for the Paragon’s helpless victims. With Branka dead, Una did as Caridin asked, smashing the Anvil of the Void into pieces, but only after Caridin had created a crown on the Anvil, urging her to bestow it on whoever she wished. Once the Anvil was gone, he gave Una a final benediction and fell into the lava, where his soul could finally find peace.

After the lava had closed over Caridin, Una turned and they made their way out of the cavern. Oghren, at the back of the group, took a last look at Branka’s body, then turned and followed with a great sigh. Even his bristling red beard looked faded and droopy. Una hoped he would be all right.

The Assembly was in session when they got back to the Diamond Quarter. The steward tried to stop them, but Una would not be stopped. She had been through too much for these dwarves and their sodding troops. She pushed past him, all but kicking the doors open, and strode in. There was nothing awkward about her walk today, Alistair thought proudly. She was every inch the Grey Warden commander right now.

Bhelen and Harrowmont were arguing back and forth, but their voices died away as Una and Oghren stood in the midst of the Assembly. She had felt like a giant most of the time they’d been in Orzammar, and mostly that had made her uncomfortable, but today she towered over all of them and hoped she made them all feel very small.

“Lords and ladies of the Assembly,” she called. “I bear a crown forged by your Paragon.”

There were whispers from the deshyrs, and one of them called out, “By Branka?”

“No. By Caridin.” Now there was a collective gasp.

“Caridin has been dead for a thousand years,” called out another deshyr, angrily. “What game is this?”

“Caridin has been a golem for a thousand years,” Una corrected, “enslaved by his own Anvil. The Anvil has been destroyed and Caridin is at peace now … but before he went to his final rest he made this crown.” She held it out before her.

“Oghren, can this be true?” one of the other deshyrs asked.

The fiery dwarf was pale as a ghost and unusually subdued—and sober—but he roused himself at the question. “Aye. The Grey Warden speaks the truth.” Una waited for the tasteless comment or the hearty laugh, but he seemed to have lost his enthusiasm. “Caridin told her she could choose who sat on the throne.”

“Why should this surfacer human be given pride of place in the Assembly?” Harrowmont asked.

“Why?” Una asked. “Because while you’ve all sat in here arguing with each other, I’ve been out doing your jobs. I took out Jarvia’s entire carta. I went after your Paragon. I took back Ortan Thaig. Maybe if either of you gentlemen standing there had done any of those things, you’d be king already.” She held up the crown before her, hoping Bhelen had listened. “This crown goes to Bhelen Aeducan. May he use it to do right by all his people.”

Bhelen came forward to be crowned, bowing down before her. “My lady, the dwarves are in your debt. When you call, you will have every man we can spare at your disposal, and the doors of Orzammar are always open to you and your companions.”

Una bowed to him. “Thank you, King Bhelen.”

She turned at last, fighting the exhaustion she felt, and walked out of the Assembly room.

There was one last thing she had to do before she could shake the dust of Orzammar off her feet.

On the other side of the Commons from the Diamond Quarter, a woman knelt in prayer, as she had every day for all the years since the loss of her son. She turned when the Wardens’ party approached, her eyes lighting with hope.

“Did you— Did you find him?”

Una looked down at Filda, Ruck’s mother, her eyes soft with pity. She had not forgotten her promise to the sad, twisted little dwarf, although she wished with all her heart that she could tell his mother where he was. She gave a heavy sigh. “We did,” she said. “I— I’m sorry, Filda. He’s … dead.”

Tears trembled in Filda’s eyes. “Thank you for finding him for me. He has returned to the Stone—there is nothing more I could ask for him.”

Una’s lips trembled. She was unable to speak. Wynne stepped forward. “We are sorry for your loss, Filda.”

Filda nodded, then turned and continued to pray. Una sent a silent prayer to the Maker that if he had anything to do with the Stone, he would see that Ruck truly found peace. And Hespith along with him.

She knew that her experiences in Orzammar would stay with her for a long time.


	41. Trees

Experiences and memories weren’t the only things Una would be taking away from Orzammar. As the group checked out of their inn and got ready to return to the surface, Una found Oghren waiting for her. The red-headed dwarf shuffled his feet.

“Warden, I— You need a dwarf.”

“Do I?”

“Ya think you can fight a Blight without one?” His bluster was returning. “And what’s a Berserker without his blade?”

“Oghren, are you sure this is what you want? We’re heading back to the surface, you know.”

He cleared his throat. “There’s nothin’ left for me in Orzammar, Warden.”

They were silent for a long moment. Finally Una grinned. “Welcome to the Blight, Oghren.”

“Yeah!” he said. “Point me to some darkspawn and duck!”

As the great doors closed behind them, Una felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She stretched her arms high over her head, luxuriating in the touch of the sunshine and the blessed relief from the constant itching in her skin.

“Do that some more, Warden. You’re quite the mountain to climb,” Oghren grunted.

“If you will pardon me, my dear dwarf,” Zev said, “I believe the innuendos are my assigned task.”

“And if you’ll both pardon me,” Alistair said with a grin, “I don’t need any innuendos.”

“Honestly,” Una said, spying the tents where Leliana and Morrigan waited for them, “there are three other women in this party. Could you gentlemen please fight over them for a while?” From the tents came a shadow streaking across the ground. Una braced herself and caught the mabari that suddenly launched himself at her. “Gren! How I’ve missed you, buddy!”

She walked off with the mabari, leaving the three men staring after her.

“Cut out by a dog, eh, son?” Oghren said, belching. “Too sad.”

Alistair shrugged philosophically, going to the campfire to see what Leliana had simmering there. The elf, meanwhile, was looking for a more entrancing sight … and found it, spying the bard at target practice amidst some trees.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Leliana hadn’t noticed the group emerge from Orzammar, although she’d been watching the doors since they’d been gone. She drew her arm back, poised to let her arrow fly.

Zev came up behind her, moving silently, but he was sure she must be able to hear his heart pounding. She gave no sign of it, however, and he slid an arm around her waist just as she let the arrow go.

Before he knew it, she had whirled around and had his arm twisted behind his back. “My dear,” he murmured, grinning hugely, “how did you know?”

“Know what?” she asked softly, her breath wafting across the back of his neck.

Zev couldn’t help the shiver, and he knew she felt it. “Know that I enjoy a certain amount of … physical restraint?”

He felt her smile against his neck. “What made you think I was aiming for your enjoyment?”

In another lightning quick movement, he had broken her hold and spun so that she was held in his arms. His mouth was very close to hers as he murmured, “If you were not, now is the time to say so.”

Her blue eyes were fearless as she met his gaze. “I was worried about you,” she admitted.

“As you see, I have emerged unscathed.” And their mouths met, the kiss neither hesitant nor practiced but filled with hunger.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Una walked with her hand on Grenli’s furry head, her heart gladdened by his familiar presence and by the sheer joy of being outside, far away from the oppressive weight of Orzammar’s politics and the taint so thick in the very air. She moved toward Morrigan’s fire, wanting to check in with the mage. It had been a long time for Morrigan to be stuck with Leliana, whose lilting optimism annoyed Morrigan to no end.

As Una approached, Morrigan’s face actually lit up. “You are safe,” Morrigan said with obvious relief. “Not a meal for some Deep Roads darkspawn.”

“No. It was touch and go there for a while, though,” Una admitted. She reached into her pack and took out an item. “I thought you might like this.” She handed Morrigan a jeweled golden mirror, much like one Morrigan had once described owning, before Flemeth had smashed it on the ground.

Morrigan’s jaw dropped. “This is— This is—“ She collected herself, and looked Una squarely in the eye. There had been other gifts, jewelry mostly, but this was obviously special. “What do you wish in return for this fine gift?” she asked, her voice attempting its usual cold tone.

“Nothing,” Una said, shaking her head with a smile. “I wish nothing. It’s a gift, no more.”

“Why do you give these things, when you get nothing in return?”

“To make you happy.”

“A strange custom,” Morrigan murmured, shaking her head and staring at the mirror. “I shall treasure this.” She looked up at Una. “I … must tell you that when my mother sent me along on this quest, I was resentful. I did not believe you were capable of leading us to any effective resolution.” She paused, but Una, having sensed most of this already, remained calm. “As we have journeyed, however, I have grown to … respect your decisions. Well, except your unaccountable preference for that oaf, Alistair. Who must have some skills inside the tent to make up for his lack of them outside it.”

Una grinned. “You have no idea.”

Morrigan raised an eyebrow. “I would prefer not to speculate. The idea …” She gave an exaggerated shudder, but Una wondered. “At any rate, I feel we have grown close over these journeys, and I have come to see you as a sister. You may count on me at any point, should you have need of me.”

“Thank you, Morrigan,” Una said, genuinely touched. Were it Leliana, she would have hugged her, but she imagined Morrigan, with her horror of touching, would take it all back if Una tried a hug on her. “I have confidence in you, as well. And affection.” She was surprised to realize it was true.

They stood for a moment staring at each other, neither one entirely sure where to go from there. Then Leliana called from the campfire, and Una turned to go get her dinner, leaving Morrigan staring at the mirror in wonder.

Taking her plate from Leliana, eyeing her first non-dwarven food since they’d gone into Orzammar with relish, Una sat down next to Oghren. He was staring morosely into his plate.

“How are you feeling?” she asked him.

He shrugged. “I hear surfacer ale is like watered down piss,” he said glumly.

“Just think of all the things you can teach the ale-makers,” Una offered.

Oghren studied his mug, his face brightening. “I could help the nug-humpers out, at that,” he said.

“Any trouble with being on the surface?” She looked at him curiously.

“Nah,” he grunted, grinning suddenly. “Feels like bein’ drunk. Almost makes up for the ale.”

“Glad to hear it.” Una returned to her plate, noticing that the dwarf drank about twice as much as he ate. She wasn’t entirely sure how they were going to afford all that ale, but there was no question that he fought better when drunk, so the effort was probably worth it.

Una had just put the last bite in her mouth when a strong hand appeared over her shoulder, taking her plate. She jumped, looking up. The question she was about to ask died in her throat when she saw the fire in his dark eyes. In all that time in the Deep Roads, there’d been little to no time alone.

Swallowing the food that had suddenly turned tasteless in her mouth, she stood up. Alistair handed the plates to Wynne, who had volunteered to wash up. Then he took Una by the arm, turning her unceremoniously around and heading away from camp.

Behind them, the rest of the company watched with snickers and guffaws. But two pairs of eyes weren’t so amused. Zev looked across the campfire into the blue eyes of the lovely redheaded bard, who blushed.

Meanwhile, Alistair slipped an arm around Una’s waist, nuzzling her ear under the silky sheaf of her hair. “You know,” he murmured, “I see those tall things all around here. What are they called?”

“Trees,” Una said breathlessly.

“Oh, yes, that’s it,” Alistair murmured, his tongue darting out to trace the outline of her ear. “I believe it’s been entirely too long since we were … intimate with a tree.”

“Agreed,” moaned Una.

He glanced around to see if they were far enough from camp, then whirled her around, pressing her up against the nearest tree. The familiar hot pressure of his body against her made her knees go weak, and she leaned back against the tree, gasping as his mouth attacked her neck, sucking and biting. Una’s leg wrapped around his, her hands ripping at his shirt, needing to feel his skin under her fingers.

Alistair’s hands closed on the round curves of her rear, pulling her pelvis into his. They ground together, gasping for breath. Growling deep in his chest, he pushed her breeches down, removing them and her boots. While he was on his knees, he pressed kisses on her inner thighs, his mouth moving briefly between her legs, tongue flicking over the spot that made her cry out. He stood, unfastening his own breeches, lifting her by the thighs, and then he thrust up inside her. She cried out with her pleasure.

Una wrapped her legs around his waist, scratching at his back as she bucked wildly against him. His thrusts were powerful, and very soon she felt her climax washing over her. He cried out a moment later, his thrusts becoming erratic as he reached his own climax.

They stood for a long moment, leaning against the tree and panting. “I love trees,” Una said dreamily. “Let’s always have lots of them.”

“Your desire is my command,” he purred into her ear. “Now, how do you feel about tents?"

“Lead on, my love.”


	42. North

Those of the team who had been inside Orzammar and endured the Deep Roads were so exhausted by the ordeal that it took two days of mostly sleeping to restore their energy enough to get back on the road.

Once they were moving at last, everyone's spirits seemed to rise, the journey down the mountain taking only half the time the journey up had. Oghren seemed to be fitting in just fine, talking knives with Zevran, trying to persuade Wynne to share her knowledge of wine with him, scandalizing and amusing Leliana with bawdy stories, dropping enough food at mealtimes for a dozen mabari.

Una had been too exhausted—and too wrapped up in Alistair—to spend much time with the dwarf, but she tried to hang back and match her steps to his during the march. It wasn't easy; her legs came up to his shoulder, a fact he pointed out salaciously a number of times.

Alistair, whose jealous streak showed every time Zevran displayed the slightest sign of gallantry toward Una, seemed amused by Oghren's far more obvious remarks. Una was relieved—the last thing they all needed was more tension.

One day, as they were moving along the muddy north road, she looked up to see a signpost ahead of her, and stopped stockstill in the road, only to be sent staggering by a blow from behind.

"Oof! Not that I mind runnin' into that particular part of yer anatomy, Warden, but you could give a fella some warnin' next time. Nearly broke my nose," Oghren complained.

Una ignored him. She was too busy trying to breathe, staring at the sign hanging above her, which read "Highever". So close to home! Tears filled her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to turn down that path and run all the way into the city and inside the castle walls, to find herself held tenderly in her mother's arms and scolded by Nan and tormented by Oren. But none of them were there anymore, she reminded herself fiercely. She and Grenli—and possibly Fergus, if he still lived somewhere in the Wilds, an increasingly unlikely hope—were all that were left. But what if someone had survived inside the castle? Pictures flashed across her mind, of Rory Gilmore holding the doors closed with the last remnant of his men; of Nan's body sprawled across those of her servants in the kitchens; of poor little Oren with his tiny hand reaching toward his mother; of Una's own mother, clutching a little dagger in a brave and doomed attempt to hold off Howe's men as long as she could. No one was left. No one.

She wasn't aware of having fallen to her knees, sobbing, in the middle of the road, until she felt Alistair's strong, warm hands on her shoulders, lifting her up and drawing her against him.

"Let me go, let me go, I want to go home," she heard herself crying.

"It's not there anymore. You know that," Alistair whispered into her hair. "You'll only torture yourself."

She knew he was right, she knew it, even if she couldn't quite get herself to understand it. Una buried her face in his chest as he led her past the route marker.

She had regained some of her composure as they began to approach the next turn-off north, but Alistair positioned himself next to her anyway, to make sure he was within reach if her grief overcame her again. It had broken his heart to see her weeping in the middle of the road that way. If there was any way he could have taken some of that pain onto his own shoulders, he would have done so.

A small campfire was burning near the northern road, with a man seated next to it eating something from a bowl.

Oghren lifted his head and sniffed the air. "What's that? Smells like … rocks."

Zevran smothered a grin as Wynne replied, "I believe it's porridge. Made of oats," she added when Oghren frowned at her.

"I'm not eatin' that stuff."

"He has not invited you to share, my friend," Leliana pointed out gently.

"Yeah, well, even if he does." Oghren crossed his arms and stuck out his lower lip, for all the world like a pouting toddler.

"You're welcome to go hungry, Oghren," Una said, but she chuckled at the picture the dwarf made, and the sound warmed Alistair's heart.

The man looked up as they approached him, getting to his feet with a broad smile. "Warden! I've been wonderin' when you'd come."

Una frowned, trying to place him. At last it came to her. "Levi Dryden! You've been waiting for us here?"

"You said you'd be here as soon as you were finished with your other obligations. Are you ready to help me take a look at Soldier's Peak?"

Truth be told, she'd almost forgotten about the Grey Warden fortress. And they really did have to hurry on to Denerim—Arl Eamon would be waiting for their return from Orzammar to call the Landsmeet, and they needed to give some thought to where the Archdemon might be heading. She shuddered, thinking of the great screaming tainted dragon they had glimpsed.

Alistair came up beside her, exchanging greetings with Levi, and Una thought about the Joining cup he carried in his pack. Neither of them had given much thought to it other than as a symbol, but it occurred to her now that in an abandoned Warden fortress, wouldn't there be instructions on how to create the Joining potion? Maybe there could be recruits, then, more Wardens, so that she wouldn't have to face every darkspawn fight with her heart in her throat, wondering when she might be forced to kill a tainted companion.

"I have to admit, Levi, I hadn't planned on heading up to Soldier's Peak right now," she said, and the merchant's face fell. Una continued, "But it might well be that there are … things inside that could help us defeat the Archdemon. Since it seems that no one is coming from other countries to help us, anything we can find could be useful."

Levi looked at her eagerly. "So you'll come with me?" He glanced around the little camp. "Because I don't mind telling you, Warden, it gets a bit lonely out here at night. If we could go now, I'd be most obliged."

Zev had caught up by this time, and he wrapped dexterous fingers around Levi's elbow. "My dear friend, whatever assistance you need, the Wardens will most surely offer it."

Since Zev hadn't yet become part of the company when Levi had first brought his request to the Wardens, his appearance—and approach—were a bit startling to the merchant. He blinked, attempting to collect himself. "Well, isn't that, er, friendly of you. Thanks."

Alistair smothered a smile, dropping his own packs in order to help Levi pack his little camp. It was certainly nice to see someone else discomfited by Zev's constant flirting. He noticed Leliana watching with an amused look, and wondered if Zev flirting with someone else was some type of indirect flirting with Leliana … Then he banished those thoughts from his mind. He did not want to know.

They were on their way up the north road toward Soldier's Peak shortly.

Wynne was walking between Una and Alistair. "I wonder if the two of you know much of the history of the Peak."

"Only stories," Una said. "Fergus used to tell them to me sometimes at night. Usually when Mother and Father were having a party, so I'd get scared in the middle of the night and have to get up and disrupt things."

"Charming fellow," Alistair observed.

"He had his moments."

Wynne patted Una's shoulder sympathetically before continuing her story. "The Warden Commander Sophia Dryden barricaded herself and her fellow Wardens in the fortress, trying to hold out against the forces of King Arland. It is supposed that she was waiting for assistance from the Grey Wardens of other nations, but they never came, and she and all her men, along with most of the King's forces, died inside the fortress."

"So, we go to disport ourselves amongst the bones of dead men?" Morrigan asked. "This should be diverting."

Alistair curled his lip in disgust. "You are so creepy."

"Do not turn up your nose at forces you have no knowledge of. There is great power in death … although there is, perhaps, greater power in the creation of life." Morrigan smiled to herself. Una narrowed her eyes, not liking the particular cat-that-caught-the-canary expression on her friend's face.

Turning away from the mage, Alistair shivered. "She's scary."

"Little boys who frighten easily should learn not to taunt their betters."

"Morrigan, pipe down. We've talked about this," Una snapped. "Alistair, if you can't stop annoying Morrigan, just ignore her." If he could, she thought. Something about the two of them—while she knew Alistair's revulsion toward Morrigan, and the reverse, was genuine, there was something between them, a tension that practically crackled in the air when they began sniping at one another, and Una couldn't help feeling threatened by it because she didn't understand it.

"Are they always like that?" Levi asked as Una pulled ahead to walk with him.

"Long days on the road, close quarters, lack of sleep, not enough food." Una shrugged. "We get testy with one another. Don't worry, though," she said, patting him reassuringly on the arm. "We only bite each other. You're perfectly safe."

"Uh-huh." He didn't look convinced, his eyes on the massive maul Una wore on her back.

Despite the sorrowful memories that arose from being this close to Highever, Una felt her spirits rising at being in such familiar territory—the pine forests of northern Ferelden smelled and looked like home to her after the swamp of the Wilds and the oaks and maples of the Brecilian Forest and the red dirt of Redcliffe and the ice and snow of the Frostbacks.

As Leliana came up alongside her, she asked her friend, "Have you ever thought about where you'd like to go after this is all over?"

"Many times." The bard smiled. "And I have thought of many different answers. I loved Val Royeux, its beauty and its fashionable people and its music; I love the silence and peace of the cloisters and the simplicity of that life. I enjoy this, being on the road and meeting new people and doing something important with my life. But none of them call to me, none of them say 'Leliana, end your days in my embrace.'"

"Perhaps it's a person you're looking to hear those words from, not a place."

Leliana smiled, but there was a shadow behind it. "Perhaps. But I have never settled with one person any more than I have in one place. I do not know if I am capable of it. And I know even less whether the person you allude to is capable of, or even desires, such a commitment."

"You could ask."

"Just … ask? How novel." Leliana's eyes twinkled, and Una had to laugh.

"All right, you know best. For now."

"You are very pushy, my friend."

"Someone has to be. The two of you will never get anywhere on your own."

Leliana burst into giggles. "I am sorry, but there is something so charming about being lectured on this topic by someone with your background and character."

Una joined in her friend's laughter. "You know, I should take offense to that."

"Are we giggling about Alistair's prowess again?" Zevran called from behind them. "If so, please share. We would all like to know."

"We would not," Alistair growled.

"Now, boy, you're never gonna learn nothin' new if you don't open your mind to it," Oghren admonished him. "Time was when little Oghren and me could pleasure three women at a time."

"Do tell," Zev said.

"Oh, Maker, another one? Why me?" Alistair said dramatically, striding ahead in an attempt to get out of earshot.

"He does have a fine backside," Leliana said, eyeing him with undisguised appreciation.

"Yes, he does." Una sighed happily. "And it's all mine."

Ahead of them, Alistair had stopped just past a clump of tall pines, and was staring up into the sky.

Una hurried to reach his side and looked up in the direction of his gaze. High up on the mountain the mists played around the shadowy outline of a large structure, turreted and imposing.

"That's Soldier's Peak? It's immense."

"If it was refitted, we could fit an entire company of Wardens in there."

"I wonder what they left behind. Goods, money … how long do health potions stay potent?"

Zevran, coming up beside her, chuckled. "How quickly you have learned to see the practical point of view."

"I was raised to see the practical point of view; if my mother was here, she'd be thinking of how to loot the place, too. Of course, she'd then be trying to make a decent dress out of the curtains, if there are any." Una laughed, covering up the pang of sorrow that hit her.

Alistair heard it, nonetheless, and his arm wrapped around her shoulders comfortingly.

"Levi, how do we make it up there?" Una said, turning her head toward the merchant.

"I know a path; I used to play around here as a child, and I found the way up then. I've searched all around the outer edges of the fortress, but I have to tell you, Warden, the sounds that come from within sometimes …" He shook his head. "I'm glad to have you all with me this time."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

"Una," Wynne said. The mage was staring up at the fortress with the rest of them, and she shook her head. "I do not have the strength to climb up there. Not if I'm to continue to be useful to you."

The mage was right; the climb would be a challenge. Privately, Una suspected it would be hard for Oghren, too, since he hadn't been on the surface for very long. She kept catching him staring suspiciously up into the sky, as if waiting for it to suck him off the earth. She thought mountain-climbing might send the dwarf even further off his rocker than he already was.

"Oghren, do you mind staying behind and keeping watch over our things? You can make sure Wynne isn't bothered, as well."

"Aye, Warden. My sodding pleasure." He leered at Wynne, who shuddered.

Una smothered a grin. If she expected Oghren to be anything other than an icicle when she came back, she'd have to leaven him a bit. "Grenli, you're here, too," she said sternly. "And … Zev, if you wouldn't mind?" She felt sorry for Wynne, stuck behind with Oghren and Zev's nonstop lewdness and innuendoes, but if Soldier's Peak had secrets, she needed her best lock-picker, and that was unquestionably Leliana.

"As you wish," Zev replied with a courtly bow.


	43. Ghosts

“So,” Morrigan said, “you and I and Alistair and Leliana will venture forth. How like old times.” Her voice made it clear she wasn’t indulging in any nostalgia.

“And Levi,” Una said, smiling at the young merchant. He appeared a bit nervous about the breakdown of the party—apparently finding himself in the company of three deadly women wasn’t one of his fantasies. She checked the position of the sun. “Do you think we can make it to the top before nightfall? I’d like to get started as soon as we can.”

Levi nodded. “I think so. Long as I can remember the paths.”

It occurred to Una that trusting to Levi’s memory might be a bit problematic, in case they all got lost, or in case she needed reinforcements. Or in case Levi was simply doing Loghain’s bidding and leading them all into a trap. She hated to think it of such a nice-seeming young man as Levi, but as General Cairados had written, a friendly smile often hides a deadly hatred.

Letting the others set off up the mountain, she hung back for a moment, motioning to Zev. “Follow us at a discreet distance. Bring Grenli—you can leave him at the top, hidden, so both of you know how to get to the Peak and he’s available if I need to call for help.”

“Your desire is my command, my lady.” His eyes twinkled, and she smacked him on the arm.

“Stop listening at my tentflap!”

“But one can learn such interesting things that way,” he protested, grinning.

“You’re impossible.” She left him, then, hurrying to catch up with the others, who were already making their way up the steep mountain path. Of course, they could always have Morrigan shape-shift into a bird and fly down for the others if they ran into more trouble than they could handle in the fortress, but Una liked having her bases well and thoroughly covered.

The climb was long and strenuous, even compared with the Frostbacks. Enough traffic went to and from Orzammar that the climb to the entrance of the dwarven city had been a relatively smooth one. This path had gone unnoticed and untrampled for a long time. There were still bits of debris left over from the passing of King Arland’s men—old helmet clasps, bits of armor, pipe fragments, all crunched under their feet.

“I used to pick these things up,” Levi said as she caught up to him. “I’d take them home and try to clean them up, but mostly they just fell apart.”

“I’d have done the same thing.” It was amazing to Una to be walking on these historical artifacts. Almost as amazing as how much trash an army generated and dropped. There were some things to be said for her impoverished ragtag little team—they didn’t waste anything. They couldn’t afford to.

Levi was staring hard at a small clump of trees, one of which had fallen over and was weighing down the others. “We turn here,” he said at last, sounding decisive. “That tree used to be standing up, I’m sure of it.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to be lost up here.”

“Now you consider such a possibility?” Morrigan sighed. “Would you like me to scout the path ahead?”

Una gave a small shake of the head. She didn’t want the mage’s abilities getting out—they might need them as a secret later—and without being completely certain of Levi’s motives, she’d just as soon follow his lead. Morrigan seemed to understand something of Una’s thoughts from her narrowed eyes, and she subsided, falling back a bit.

At last, after many more twists and turns, they reached the top of the mountain, panting and exhausted.

“What do you think,” Alistair asked, putting his strong arm around Una’s waist, “camp here and go in tomorrow?”

A gust of chilly wind blew past and Una shivered. “Camp outside when there’s a perfectly good structure right there? No, thanks.”

“You say ‘perfectly good’, I say ‘perfectly creepy,’” Alistair grumbled.

Una kissed him quickly before turning to Morrigan and Leliana. “Alistair will go first, Morrigan, you stay behind. Leliana, you’re with me.” She glanced at Levi, who looked utterly terrified.

“Are we expecting to fight someone, Warden?” he asked, his voice quivering.

“You never know what you’re going to encounter. Best to be prepared. You can stay here until I come get you, if you’d rather.”

“No, I’ll come with you.”

“Got a sword?” Alistair asked.

Trembling, either from cold or fear, Levi shook his head.

“Then stay back out of harm’s way, for the Maker’s sake!” Alistair exclaimed. Levi appeared to think this was wise advice, and stopped pushing to be included.

It was as well that he had, because Soldier’s Peak was haunted, and not with friendly ghosts. They saw a vision of Arland’s attackers fighting off a force of Wardens, and then had to reenact the battle with the risen skeletons of those long-dead men. Una hated to do it—both sides appeared to have fought well, and they deserved a better grave. Someday she would come back here with a proper force and they would find all the scattered bones and see them properly to the Maker, she promised herself. When the Blight was over.

They vanquished the skeletons, retrieved Levi from his hiding place—he seemed almost as frightened of Morrigan as he had been of the skeletons, which pleased the mage greatly—and approached the main keep. The smaller buildings all seemed structurally compromised and none would provide adequate shelter from the wind, so if they intended to sleep warm inside four walls tonight, the keep had to be breached.

The stone walls had held well; the first room was warm and sound and well-built, and smelled only of undisturbed dust. For a moment, Una thought that might be all there was to it. Then another vision came, of Sophia Dryden, a tall, determined woman with a forceful personality, rallying her troops. More skeletons rose from the floor when the shades of the past had finished speaking. While they weren’t a particularly formidable foe, they were hard for Alistair and Leliana to attack with their blades. Alistair resorted to kicking them, the dry bones splintering under the force of his booted foot. Una’s mallet worked well, though, scattering bone fragments across the room.

Once the skeletons were all in pieces, Leliana found an old straggly broom and began sweeping up the broken bits. Una appreciated the effort—she had no desire to spend the next day picking splinters of bone out of each other’s backsides. Alistair worked on building a barricade to keep whatever lurked farther inside the keep from coming through as they slept. Morrigan unrolled the pallets as Leliana swept, and dug dried foods from the packs for a quick meal before they went to sleep.

Una wandered the room, finding a long yellowed sheet of vellum tacked to the wall. It was a list of the names of those who had fought there. Nicknames, really, more than names. The Black Ferret, Chair-thrower Lopez, Om the Stretched. She imagined them all sitting around as their names were written down, knowing their end was near. Could she be so calm, so blasé, as to let herself be called something like Una the Elongated, or would she want to write down her own name, to let the world know that Una Cousland had stood for something?

“Hey.” Alistair came up behind her and started rubbing her neck. “You okay?”

“It’s just … these were Grey Wardens. Our people, you know? And they knew they were going to die.”

He turned her around, looking into her eyes. “We’re not going to die. That’s a promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Fine, then. I’ll promise this: you are not going to die. Not while there’s breath left in my body. I love you too much to let something happen to you if I have any chance of stopping it.”

“No.” Una moved his hands off her shoulders, holding his wrists tightly. “No heroic grandstands, no sacrificing yourself to save me. Do you think I could live knowing you had done that for me? I’m not some simpering miss you have to protect with your big, strong body, Alistair. I’m a warrior, and a Grey Warden, just like you. I took the oath and went through the Joining knowing what could happen, just like you did. If it’s my time to go, you have to love me enough to let me die being who I am.”

“Do you think I could live knowing you had died when I could have saved you? No, Una. You can ask me anything else, but you can’t ask me to let you die. Not now, not ever.”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment, then Una let go of his wrists and pushed her way past him. “I’m going to sleep. Stupid to have this argument, anyway. No doubt when the end comes, neither of us will see it until it’s too late.”

“Right,” Alistair muttered, but neither of them was convinced, that much was clear.

The night passed slowly, the quiet broken over and over again by squeals and creaks and the occasional drawn-out cry from the depths of the keep.


	44. Demons

In the morning, they removed the barricade and turned to the serious business of exploration. Skeletons rose from the floor of nearly every room, having to be put down, their bones cracking as they fell lifeless to the ground.

The library held another vision, shades of the librarian and his assistant being mowed mercilessly down by the king's soldiers.

"No wonder it was so hard for Duncan to get a foothold here in Ferelden," Alistair said, "if this is how people remembered the Wardens, as traitors to the king who were slaughtered by invading soldiers."

"Doesn't paint a very brave or loyal picture of us, does it?" Una replied, hoping the exchange would help facilitate a truce. The air between them felt tense, and while she regretted that they were arguing over something so noble as whether Alistair should sacrifice himself to save her, she really thought he was missing the point.

She wouldn't have been surprised to know that Alistair was thinking something similar. How could she imagine he could be so selfish as to let something happen to her? She was … well, it was pretty simple. He was expendable; she wasn't. He appreciated that she at least hadn't played the Theirin card, because he would not be treated differently just because King Maric had fallen on a serving girl once and created a headache for other people to deal with. For that matter, if Maric had done that once, who knew how many other times he might have. There was no telling how many half-brothers Alistair had running around out there. The thought brought with it a fair amount of relief, and Alistair smiled as he followed Una up the stairs to the keep's second level.

The smile died in a grimace at the smell that poured out of the Warden Commander's office. Something had obviously died in there.

Or hadn't died, Alistair amended silently as he came into the room and saw the thing that stood behind the massive desk. It was Sophia Dryden, that much was obvious from the vision they had all had, but time had not been kind. Her flesh was falling off her bones, decaying in bits and pieces. Stinking, gelatinous ooze of some sort he didn't want to contemplate ran down her armor.

"Look at that armor," Una breathed, clearly not put off by the noxious substance.

It was gorgeous—dark blue, emblazoned with griffons, and probably about Una's size, given Sophia Dryden's height. Unfortunately, the once-upon-a-time Warden Commander was still using it.

She—it—looked immediately to Una, discounting all the others. "This one has not looked upon such freshness in many years. What do you want of this one?"

Finding Levi standing at his shoulder, Alistair said, "I think your grandmother's been possessed."

"Either that, or she's really let herself go," the merchant muttered. He shook his head. "My grandmother's dead. I don't know what in the Void that is."

"This one is the Dryden. Sophia. Commander. All these things," the creature said, laughing. "But she is food for this one; she no longer exists in the world."

"You have her memories?" Una asked.

"What are memories? Can they be eaten?"

"No. No, I don't imagine so." Una stared at the creature for a moment. Was there any point in further conversation? They knew what had happened here; Levi could see that whatever his grandmother had been up to, it hadn't ended well for her. There was no redemption to be found for the Dryden family in this creature before her. "I think we'll kill you now."

"Foolish girl! This one can do much for you."

Una wasn't even curious. Whatever deal Sophia had made with the demon, the advantages had clearly all been on the demon's side. She was wise enough to expect the same if she were to try it. She drew the giant maul from her back, stepping forward into range.

Skeletons erupted from the piles of refuse in the corners, and shades seemed to melt out of the walls. Levi scrambled under the desk, hiding there and quaking, while the rest of the team readied for battle. Alistair approached the demon, still in its Sophia-Dryden form. His attacks would be more useful against her—it—than against the skeletons.

As Una turned to smash one of the skeletons with a mighty blow from her maul, she shouted over her shoulder to Alistair. "Don't hurt the armor, whatever you do. That's my armor now!"

"Don't hurt the armor, she says," he muttered under his breath. "Riiight." With a powerful blow of his shield, he smashed the demon into the wall. Solid construction; there wasn't even a creak with the impact.

When the fight was over, they stood looking down at the decaying corpse.

"Poor Grandmother," Levi muttered.

Privately, Alistair wasn't sure what was so poor about her—she appeared to have made some kind of a bargain with a demon. It didn't take a genius to know what happened to people who did that. In his view, she deserved what she got. That armor, now … "Are you sure you want that stuff?" he asked Una. It was pretty, but what a mess. "It'll smell of demon for months, assuming you can ever get the stench out at all."

"Oh, no," Leliana put in. "You can clean it quite quickly." She patted Una on the shoulder. "You'll see."

"Good." Una wasn't sure what drew her to it so strongly. It was dramatic armor, to be certain, but heavier and less practical than the elven set she currently wore. But it was hers. Something about it called to her. Perhaps she saw more of Sophia Dryden in herself than she'd be willing to admit to the others … both of them forced to command Wardens alone in a desperate circumstance. Who was to say Una wouldn't be pushed to some end such as this herself? The armor would be a good reminder, at the very least.

Leaving the armor and the other items they'd collected in a heap on the landing, they moved across the windy bridge to the tower. More skeletons barred their path, and Una made a mental note to be sure to sweep up any remnants of bone later and burn it safely for the Maker. These restless souls were a bit too thick up here.

The tower held its own horrors. Another dark vision that showed Sophia Dryden using her resident mage to call up demons … and the demons, unsurprisingly, turning on those who called them; a laboratory filled with the long-dead remnants of men who had been trapped in cages and used as test subjects; and the ancient mage at the heart of it all.

Morrigan was intrigued by his research, paging through his journal intently. Alistair and Leliana were disgusted, naturally. Levi was weary, ready to be done with the whole expedition, even if it had been his idea to begin with. And Una was angry. She was tired of old men's hubris, and of fixing their mistakes. Once the elderly mage had finished clearing the tower of its ancient summoning circles, closing the tear in the Veil, she executed him.

Morrigan hadn't liked that, and Leliana felt they should have shown mercy, despite the old man's obvious crimes, but Una didn't care what they thought. She was tired of stopping to pay attention to what everyone else wanted every time she had a decision to make, when none of them seemed willing to take on any decisions themselves.

They said good-bye to a very shaken Levi … who was nevertheless not too shaken to lay claim to Soldier's Peak as a hub for his business. Una didn't mind. The Grey Wardens could use a home base, and a relationship with a merchant who was slightly more forgiving in his prices than Bodahn Feddic, the dwarven merchant who often traveled with them. A few more of the dwarf's 'discounts' would drain her purse dry. Levi had promised to bring all his family up to the Peak and get it running again, as well as to burn all the dry bones and see the remnants of those who had died in the Peak safe to the Maker. She made him promise to stay away from the mage's tower, which he was happy to do.

Grenli rushed up to her as they came down from the mountain, his stumpy tail wagging. Wynne didn't seem the worse for wear after her ordeal, left alone with Zevran and Oghren, although both the men seemed to be suffering from massive hangovers, and treated the mage with far greater respect and awe than they had when Una left. She decided not to ask for the details; she would certainly be happier not knowing.


	45. Vengeance

That night they sat around the campfire after dinner. Una and Alistair were polishing her new armor, while the others all attended to various other tasks of reoutfitting and refurbishing.

“So we are going back to Denerim next, yes?” Leliana asked.

Una nodded, scrubbing at a piece of black gunk caked on the breastplate.

“Where they will call the Landsmeet?”

When it appeared Una wasn’t going to answer, Alistair said, “Arl Eamon should already be in Denerim awaiting our arrival. Once we get there, he’ll call the Landsmeet, and we will face down Loghain.”

“What do you intend to do with the queen, when you wrest the throne from her hands?” Morrigan inquired.

“I don’t intend to do anything with her! As far as I’m concerned, she can go home to Gwaren, safe and sound,” Alistair protested. Both Wynne and Una gave him sharp looks, although they didn’t say anything. Zevran chuckled. “What?” Alistair snapped.

“Your naivete is charming, if impractical.” At Alistair’s frown, the elf continued, “Queen Anora, by all accounts, is extremely competent at her job. As well as extremely delectable.” He winked at Leliana, who shook her head with a fond smile. “She will not take kindly to being exiled to the back of nowhere, royal blood or not.”

“And Teyrn Loghain will not be as easily vanquished as you seem to think,” Wynne added.

Una kept scrubbing, putting all her force into it, trying to ignore the conversation.

Alistair said grimly, “I don’t care how much it takes to take care of Loghain. He will pay for what he did at Ostagar.”

“Scrub any harder, the enamel’s gonna come off,” Oghren said to Una, taking the breastplate out of her hands. “What’s on yer mind, girlie?”

“Nothing.”

The dwarf spat on the ground. “Try it on the kid, he might believe it. Me, I been married. I know what ‘nothing’ means.” He waited, his brown eyes surprisingly kind as he held his gaze steady on hers.

It was obvious he had no intention of taking her ‘nothing’ as an answer. Una sighed. “Rendon Howe is in Denerim. It was Howe’s men who attacked my family’s castle, and since he had been there only that day, I have to assume he was part of the attack as well. I went to Denerim once without confronting him, but this time …”

“Yer family’s blood cries out for vengeance.” Oghren nodded. “Sure it does.”

“But is there really time for my personal sorrow in the midst of the Blight and the civil war?” Una kept her eyes on Oghren, despite knowing that everyone else was listening, as well. Right now she didn’t feel like a leader. She felt like the little girl Duncan had dragged out of Highever Castle, promising her dying father that he would be avenged. Abruptly she stood up. “I’m sorry, I can’t talk any more tonight. If you’ll all excuse me.” She bit back the tears until she was in the safety of her tent, hoping that Alistair would understand and wouldn’t join her quite yet. Once she had tied the flap closed behind her, she fell to her knees on the bedroll, muffling her sobs with her fist.

When the storm of weeping had passed and, thankfully, Alistair was still outside talking quietly with the others, Una wiped her eyes with one of his handkerchiefs and dug a sheet of vellum out of her pack.

_Dear Mother and Father,  
I am in need of your guidance again. Every time I think I can be the leader all of these people look to, something happens to make me lose confidence in myself and wonder if I am truly qualified to be the head of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden. I know I had no choice in the matter, but still … I struggle with the question of whether I am mature enough to have an entire country’s (all of Thedas’s, really) future on my shoulders.  
We are going to Denerim, will be there in a few more days. And in Denerim is Rendon Howe. All I can think about is gutting him the way his men gutted you, Father, and cutting him down like a dog for his crimes against our family. I still see Oren’s face in my dreams. If I kill Howe, will that stop? Can Oren’s spirit, and yours, and Oriana’s, rest? I’ve had no word of Fergus—I think he must be dead, too, which makes me the last surviving Cousland. Vengeance rests on me, but does it have a place next to all the other responsibilities I bear? I don’t know what to do. I know what my country calls me to do; I know what my blood calls me to do … but I don’t know which to listen to. Help me, please!  
Your loving daughter,  
Una_

She finished the letter, folding it carefully, with precise creases. It was quiet outside now and she snuck out of her tent, kneeling before the fire. Oghren’s resounding snores split the air, and Wynne’s lighter ones chimed in with a higher tone. Distantly, Una could hear the cracking of twigs that said Alistair’s heavy feet were the ones patrolling. Grenli sat at her side, looking up toward the sky almost expectantly, and Una threw a grateful arm around the dog’s neck.

Whether Leliana or Zevran were asleep or awake, watching her or distracted by their own interests, she was certain she wouldn’t know if she sat there listening for three hours. She could only hope that they were sensitive enough to leave her alone.

A whisper of movement caught her attention, and she looked up to see Morrigan standing there. “Will they have your answers?”

Una looked down at the paper in her hand. “I hope so. Which would be more important to you, Morrigan, ending the Blight or pursuing personal vengeance?”

“That depends. Which would be most useful to me in the long run?”

“Useful?”

“Certainly. Will you gain enough by prioritizing personal vengeance to make it worth your while, or would it be best to let it go and trust to circumstances to punish those who wronged you?”

“What if it isn’t about me?” Una swallowed hard, trying to banish the screams in her ears. “What if it’s the blood of others that cries out for its vengeance, and my own needs pale in comparison?”

Morrigan frowned. “Those who are dead have no needs. Their cries are in your head and in your heart, and therefore are yours, which makes my counsel stand unrevised.”

“Hm.” It sounded logical, Una had to admit, but Morrigan had no family to call on her, and no lost loved ones she cared about. It was hard to imagine the witch tormented by the memory of people she had tried, and failed, to save.

“I will leave you to it, then. I hope that your parents’ wisdom can resolve your dilemma before you make a decision we will all regret.”

Una hoped so, too. She waited until Morrigan had resumed her seat in front of her own fire before dipping a corner of the letter into the flame. Only at the last minute, just before it would have burned her fingers, did she drop the corner.

Closing her eyes, Una bent her head, listening. She was only dimly aware of movements in the camp, of Leliana emerging from a tent and setting out on watch, of Alistair’s heavy tread coming back toward her.

He settled down next to her, laying a comforting hand on her leg, but he didn’t speak. His nearness was a comfort, and Una leaned into him.

_My darling girl._ Her mother’s voice was strong in her head. _Our house calls out for vengeance, I can’t deny that. But the Blight rules. There must be peace amongst the nobility of Ferelden, and they must band together to stop the Archdemon and prevent our land from being further laid waste. Your work must be there. Of course, if you should happen to come across Rendon Howe in your travels and your sword happens to split his head open, that wouldn’t be amiss._ There was a chuckle in her father’s voice as he cut into her mother’s bloodthirsty dream. _Your mother was always the fighter of the family, and I am glad to see you taking after her. Rendon Howe will be punished by the Maker, never fear that, Pup. Your work will go all the better without his blood on your hands. I do not ask that you do murder on my account—not ever. Your strength has better uses than that._ Eleanor Cousland’s voice was fondly exasperated as she took over, and Una smiled at the familiarity of it. _Misplaced chivalry, my dear. Gut the bastard._ Then Bryce Cousland was back, his tone serious. _You have a strong shoulder there at your side, Pup. Don’t leave him out of this. He may have opinions and ideas that you have yet to consider. More important, if you mean to make a go of this with him, you have to learn to work with him and not go off on your own._

It was a good point. Una opened her eyes and smiled, wiping the tears off her cheeks.

“They have anything good to say?”

“My father says I should be talking to you instead of them.” She tucked her head into the curve of Alistair’s shoulder.

“Wise man. I think I like him.”

“Apparently he likes you, too.”

“This is a very odd situation, you know.” His arm slid around her and he pulled her tightly against him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s … Rendon Howe. I know we’re going to see him in Denerim, and I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if I go after him, it could get in the way of our stopping the Blight … but if I don’t, I feel like I’m letting my family down.”

“Hm.” Alistair rubbed her back gently, looking up at the stars. “Una, when was the last time you did something you wanted to do?”

“You mean, besides last night?” She grinned at the chuckle that rumbled through his chest.

“Yes, I mean besides that. You’ve taken me to see my sister, you’ve dealt with Flemeth for Morrigan, you’ve confronted Marjolaine for Leliana. No doubt you’d go off and help Wynne or Oghren if they needed it.”

“Okay, yes, I probably would. Why?”

“Why? Because you seem to think the rest of us wouldn’t follow you to the ends of Thedas and beyond, whatever your reasoning. If you needed us to take over fighting the Blight so you can go and exact your revenge, that’s what we would do. If you just wanted Howe dead, I suspect Zevran or Leliana would be happy to accomplish that as quickly or as painfully as you wanted.”

A chuckle came from Zevran’s tent, and Una smiled against Alistair’s chest. Disregarding Zevran’s listening ears, Alistair went on, “My point is that if there are things that are important to you, you have to tell us you want to do them. Do you want to go back to Ostagar again and look for some sign of your brother?”

Una shook her head. “No. Gren looked while we were there and he didn’t come across anything. Any trail that might have been left would be long cold by now.” A hot tear trickled down her cheek. “I really miss him … and all of them. But I’m glad I don’t have to tell him about what happened to his family. No one should have to hear that.”

Alistair’s arms tightened around her, and he kissed the side of her face. “Wherever you go, I will follow you. You believe that, don’t you?”

She nodded, raising her face to be kissed properly. It hadn’t occurred to her before that she had been more than willing to postpone the Blight for her friends’ needs … or to wonder why she was so much more reluctant when it came to her own.


	46. Arrival

They kept moving the next day, making their way as quickly as they could toward Denerim.

Zevran was walking next to Una, and he said, more seriously than usual, “Have you considered how you will get into the city?”

“What do you mean?”

“I cannot imagine that the bounty on your heads has been lifted, and no doubt Loghain will be on the lookout for your arrival. He must know that Arl Eamon is planning to call the Landsmeet, and that you and our resident ex-Templar will be there. He will want to be certain he has dealt with the threat you represent before you can challenge his sovereignty.”

Una frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that.” She glanced over her shoulder at the rest of the crew. “Do you think he knows all of us?”

“Hm.” Zevran considered that for a moment. “Of a certainty, he will be looking for me, although he is the least of my concerns.” His white teeth flashed in a grin. “The Crows will also be searching for me, and are far more efficient than the Regent could ever be. I doubt his sources are good enough to know of Oghren or Morrigan or Leliana, although if he has any decent spies he should have heard of our lovely companions and have at least their descriptions. And I suspect the Templars may well know about Wynne. So at a guess, I imagine he knows enough to make it very difficult for us.”

“Well, you’re a fountain of good news, aren’t you?”

“I do my humble best.” He bowed, and Una sighed.

“We’ll have to sneak into the city.”

“Sneaking is one of the many things I do best.”

“How much can I pay you to keep you from listing off the others?”

“You do not have that much coin, lovely lady. Let’s see …” He held out his hands and pretended to be counting on his fingers. “There is sneaking, and poison, and massage, and …”

“Don’t say lockpicking, though, because Leliana’s twice as good at that as you are.” Una grinned at him.

“Ah, those skilled little fingers.”

“Enough said. I’d threaten to tell you all about Alistair’s—what did Leliana call it? Oh, his athleticism. But you’d enjoy it too much.”

“That I would. Besides which, my lovely Warden, one need only have a working pair of ears to know precisely how much pleasure his … ahem … athleticism brings you.”

Una tried hard not to blush, but it was impossible to contemplate being listened to during those moments without doing so. Zev laughed, a hearty, genuine laugh that warmed her heart.

“If we could get back to business, please,” she said, trying to gather her shredded dignity around her.

“Business before pleasure. Such a shame that you have your priorities so turned around.” But he sobered, for all that, and they turned their attention to the problem of getting the whole group into Denerim without being detected.

So it was that Oghren walked in through the gates, roaring a dwarven marching song at the top of his lungs. He was weaving drunkenly through the masses of people, pinching a rear there, stepping on a foot here. In the chaos he created in his wake, Leliana slipped silently through the crowd. Morrigan, dressed with more discretion than usual and accompanied by Grenli, used the distraction to her advantage to move quickly past the gates and into the warren of streets surrounding them before she had time to draw notice. Wynne, pretending to be more infirm than she actually was, leaned on Alistair’s arm, both of them dressed as refugees.

That had been the easy part. Zevran could have gone in as well. But Una, thanks to her height and her rather distinctive looks and walk, was the hardest one to get into the city. So the elf stayed outside the city walls with Una and with much of their gear. They would leave the tents and the nonessentials with Bodahn and Sandal, but the armor and weapons needed to come in.

Late that night, in the darkness of a fortunately moonless night, Zevran managed to get a loop of rope around the top of one of the sharpened logs of the city walls. It tightened with the weight of his body as he climbed slowly, his eyes fixed above him for any sign of the guards. Leliana, inside, was supposed to be playing the part of a strumpet, and have drugged the wine she intended to share with the night guards … but anything could have gone wrong with that plan, so Zevran and Una were wary. Finally the elf reached the top, tugging on the rope to let Una know he was there. She tied the bundle of weapons and armor to the end, holding her breath as Zev drew it up. It was a heavy bundle, and while the elf was sinewy and strong, Una would have felt somewhat more confident if Alistair had been the one pulling it up. Of course, Alistair would have clattered the bundle against the walls, bringing half of Denerim to see what the tremendous racket was. Whatever difficulties Zevran might have had with the bundle, it made no noise whatsoever as he drew it up the wall.

Below, Una waited for what seemed like half an age until the rope hit her in the upturned face when it uncoiled. She grasped it, tugging lightly to assure herself that it was strong enough to hold her. Of course, it had been strong enough to hold the armor and weapons, which weighed a lot more, but while it was easy to tell herself that, it was less easy to believe. Climbing had never been her strong point.

She hauled herself up the wall hand over hand, her muscles aching by the time she was halfway up. She’d have thought carrying that big maul would have helped in this area, but apparently they were different muscle groups, or she was clenching the rope more tightly than she did the weapon. Either way, by the time she was three quarters of the way up her arms were quivering and she wasn’t sure she was going to make it. Did Denerim really have to have such tall walls?

A slim tanned arm reached over the edge of the wall, and she focused on the outstretched hand, hauling herself up until she could grasp it. Una wouldn’t have guessed that Zev was strong enough to pull her up, but pull he did, until she landed on the top of the wall next to him, gasping.

“Do we have to go down, now, too?”

“Yes, and I am afraid we must do it carrying the weapons,” he murmured very close to her ear. “And quickly, at that, because while our multi-talented songbird has dealt with the guards at the top, the city guards have changed their watch.”

“All right. Let’s get it over with, then.” Una shouldered as much of the pack as she could. Zev took the rest, nimbly climbing down a ladder that was leaning against the top of the wall. She let him get to the bottom before following. Just one more rung, she kept telling herself. Just one more.

Finally she’d reached the bottom. Zev was looking around the corner, waiting for the next set of guards to pass. He held up his hand in a signal for her to wait, which Una was glad to do. After a few minutes, he dropped his hand sharply and disappeared around the corner, with Una following quickly behind him.

They slipped in a side door of Arl Eamon’s estate, finding Leliana there waiting for them. She took the gear from Una’s shoulders. “My friend, you must hurry to the front parlor. Your presence is needed.”

“Why?”

“Loghain is here.”

“How did he know?”

Leliana shrugged. “He does not know of your arrival, however, and I believe Alistair could use your support.”

“How long has he been here?”

“Not long. A few minutes, I believe. And … Una? He is not alone.”

Her eyes met Leliana’s, reading there the identity of Loghain’s companion. Howe. Already. She should have known. Una was unprepared for the calm that settled over her now that the moment was at hand. He would know now, for certain, that his attempt to wipe out the Couslands had failed, and she would at least have the satisfaction of having faced him down. She just hoped she could hold onto her dignity.


	47. Howe

It had been a long time since she had been to the Arl of Redcliffe’s Denerim estate, and she was glad of Leliana’s guidance as they hurried through the hallways.

Una recognized the voice that was speaking as she approached the parlor. Leliana squeezed her hand, but she barely felt it as she pushed the door open.

“Call off your Landsmeet, Eamon, before it goes badly for you.” Teyrn Loghain stood in the middle of the room, facing Arl Eamon. Both men were bristling visibly, neither willing to back down.

Alistair stood behind Eamon, his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at Loghain, who seemed completely oblivious to the younger man’s presence. Behind Loghain stood his second, Ser Cauthrien, a warrior Una had always looked up to and hoped to learn from one day … and Rendon Howe, a smarmy smile on his features.

She cleared her throat. It mattered little to her that she was wearing travel-stained pants and a dark, hooded jerkin, or that her hair was no doubt tangled and messy and her face dirty from a hasty rub of earth to keep her fair skin from shining in the moonlight. She was here representing the Couslands, and they were a line that had never shrunk from getting their hands dirty in the service of their country.

Loghain glanced at her, his gaze sweeping her up and down with little interest before he turned back to Eamon. Cauthrien’s eyes were dark and unreadable. Rendon Howe’s smile widened—of course, he would have expected her to be here. No doubt he’d known the identity of the second Grey Warden for some time.

Still, the fact that her presence didn’t make the impact she had hoped for didn’t change anything. She was here, and her family would be remembered, their deaths avenged.

Eamon waited until all attention was on him again before speaking. “Surely the Regent himself didn’t need to come all the way over here just to let me know his nose was out of joint. Such an honor to have you sneering in my very own parlor.”

“Your sarcasm does you little credit, Eamon. You know as well as I that you are playing a divisive game with our country. It has to stop.”

“You’re the one who has divided us! What are you playing at, Loghain? With Cailan dead, Ferelden needs a strong leader. It doesn’t need civil war!” Eamon was quickly losing his temper.

“Ferelden has a strong leader—her queen. And I lead her armies.”

Una couldn’t keep silent any longer. “Considering Ostagar, perhaps it’s a better general we need.”

Loghain glanced her over one more time. She wondered if he recognized her, if he thought about what had been done to her family. “Who is this, Eamon, some stray from the road? Here I thought it was only royal bastards you played nursemaid to.”

“At least you’re admitting the royal part,” Alistair drawled insolently. “It’s a start.”

He wouldn’t have claimed his heritage for anyone else, Una thought. In the face of the man who had killed all those Alistair thought of as his real family, he would claim the one that had rejected him in order to gain the leverage his bloodline provided him. She hated that he was brought to that, but Eamon wasn’t wrong—Ferelden needed a strong king, someone like Alistair could become, with the right tutelage and support.

Loghain was still staring at Una, and she drew herself up to her full height, looking him in the eye. “Surely you remember me. We’ve met many times in my father’s house. I am Una Cousland.” She took a deep breath before claiming her family’s title for the first time. “Teyrna of Highever.” Her eyes met those of Rendon Howe, and he gave her a pitying smile that made her blood boil. She did her best not to show it, but it took every ounce of control she had.

“Tch, tch,” Howe said. “The Couslands are dead, and their traitorous deeds with them. The teyrnir of Highever belongs to the Howes, and rightfully so.”

Maker, she wanted to rip his teeth out, to throw his words back in his face and tell all these people what his men had done to her innocent nephew. But there was little doubt in her mind that everyone in the room already knew, and those who weren’t already minded to do something about it wouldn’t be convinced by any words of hers. She waited in contemptuous silence as Howe took a pinch of snuff and sneezed heartily, one eyebrow raised as if he was wasting her time. “Enjoy your moment. It will end soon enough. That’s a promise.” She wished with all her heart her mother could have been here to see her, poised and calm in the face of their enemy. Eleanor Cousland couldn’t have done better herself, Una thought.

Howe’s face flushed red, but Ser Cauthrien stepped in before he could be goaded further. “It is either boldness or stupidity to threaten the Teyrn before witnesses,” she snapped.

“He is no Teyrn until confirmed by the Landsmeet,” Una reminded the warrior. She regretted that Ser Cauthrien was in the midst of all this—she had always admired the older woman’s swordsmanship and military bearing, and had dreamed of taking a similar path. Una was grieved to find herself on the opposite side from her girlhood hero. “And I have offered no threat. Arl Howe well knows that he took my family’s home by treachery and caused innocents to be slaughtered. Such evil always meets its just reward.”

“Hold your tongue! You know nothing of what you speak of,” Ser Cauthrien shouted.

“Silence, Cauthrien,” Loghain snapped. Una was glad of the interruption, because it kept her from responding to Ser Cauthrien in kind. Loghain glanced in Una’s direction contemptuously, then turned back to Arl Eamon. “You divide our nation and weaken our efforts against the Blight with your selfish ambitions to the throne. Deny it if you will.”

“I do deny it,” Eamon began, but Alistair cut him off.

“What efforts can there be against the Blight when you murdered every Grey Warden within our borders and have outlawed all the others?”

Loghain looked up at the younger man. “Cailan depended on the Grey Wardens; he idolized them. Where did that get any of us? It got him slaughtered by the very creatures the Grey Wardens were sworn to protect him from.” The sneer in his voice when he said ‘Grey Wardens’ made Una’s stomach churn. “If you must speak to me, speak of realities, not of tall tales.”

Alistair was so angry he couldn’t speak, subsiding into the background. But his eyes stayed on Loghain.

Eamon put himself between the two men. “I cannot forgive you for what you have done, Loghain, and I think you’ll find the rest of the country can’t, either. In your zeal to protect Ferelden, you may have doomed her to a far worse end than whatever you might think you’re saving her from. You have proven that you are not a fit leader, and that your daughter is too weak to be allowed to remain on the throne. Alistair will lead us, as his father did before him.”

The Teyrn gave an unexpected snort of a laugh. “If you had seen Maric during the rebellion, you would understand the absurdity in what you have said.” He looked over at Alistair again, his face inscrutable. “The lad seems to have inherited more than looks from his father, and that is not necessarily a compliment.” He stepped closer to Eamon, his voice dropping dangerously. “The Emperor of Orlais thought that he could bring me down, once upon a time. I will prove you equally as wrong.”

He spun on his heel, and with a barked command to Cauthrien and Howe, stalked out of the room. Una gained some amusement from watching Rendon Howe scurry after the taller Teyrn like an unwanted puppy—clearly her father’s killer had not gained freedom through his treachery. Rather, he had bound himself to a master worse than himself. Una was clear-eyed enough to see that whatever madness Loghain was suffering from, he genuinely thought himself to be working in Ferelden’s best interests. Howe, on the other hand, worked in his own best interests, which made Loghain’s a dangerous hand to feed from. Honesty, however misguided, would have little mercy on treachery, once discovered.

Yes, seeing Loghain and Howe turn on each other would be satisfying, she thought. But not as much so as crushing Howe’s skull with her maul and watching his blood paint the floor.

From his thunderous expression, Alistair was having similar thoughts regarding Loghain. Una crossed the room to him, laying a hand on his arm. He startled, looking at her for a moment as though he didn’t recognize her. Then his eyes cleared, and he put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him as his held breath released itself in a heavy sigh.

Eamon shook his head, still watching the door. “I hadn’t expected Loghain to show himself quite so soon. He must be worried.” He turned his head, looking at Una and Alistair. “We must ensure that the nobles understand Loghain’s duplicity, and no one will demonstrate our cause better than the two of you. Go to the nobles, show yourselves, tell them what happened at Ostagar, and after.”

“And before,” Una added savagely.

“And before,” he echoed. He cleared his throat. “Your parents were my friends for many years; and they were Rendon Howe’s friends, as well. It shocks me that he turned on them so savagely. Power does strange things to people.”


	48. Leadership

There was silence in the room for a few moments before Arl Eamon continued, “You must be exhausted. Shall I … uh, have Alistair show you to your room?”

“Yes, thank you.” Una wasn’t tired, not yet—exhilaration was still coursing through her veins from the climb, the trek through the city, and the confrontation with Loghain and Howe—but she very much wanted to be alone with Alistair. “We’ll get started on the nobles tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, best to do that when you’re rested and looking your best.”

She stifled the irritation she felt at his words—after all, how many times had her mother carped on the importance of looking nice when you were asking for something? Much as Una had never wanted to admit it, her mother had always been right about that. Presentation did make a difference, and it was still possible to look one’s best while wearing armor.

Alistair still hadn’t spoken. The meeting with Loghain had taken all the strength he had, it appeared; he was ashen-faced, his eyes far away. Una took his arm. “Shall we?”

“Right.” It was a pale imitation of his usual cheery way of speaking, but he did rally enough to wish Arl Eamon a good night and guide her through the halls.

“Did you come here as a child?” Una asked.

“Hm? Oh. Um, occasionally, when I was very small. I think they changed the dining room,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Alistair, are you all right?”

He glanced at her quickly. “No, I am bloody well not ‘all right’!” he said in a furious whisper. “I just had to stare down the greatest traitor in our country’s history, a man who took the lives of every Grey Warden in Ferelden—or tried to—and let him walk back out of here unscathed.”

Una nodded. “I know.”

“Do you know what that feels like?” His voice was rising, and he had stopped in the middle of the hall.

“Think about it, Alistair. Who was standing there next to Loghain? Yeah, Loghain’s a big traitor, and he left people to die on the battlefield. Rendon Howe smiled in my father’s face, knowing that he was about to murder everyone in Highever Castle—including a child so young he couldn’t even pronounce ‘sword’ correctly, much less lift one in his own defense—and I had to stand there and let him claim my family’s title! A little less self-involvement would be appreciated.”

He stared at her for a moment, then opened his arms. As Una pressed her face into the corner between his neck and shoulder, he whispered, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“I know you weren’t, and you have to start thinking. A leader puts the needs of his people above his own.”

“Cairados?”

“Cousland. My father taught me that.”

“I wish I could have met him.”

“I do, too. He would have enjoyed teaching you about leadership and the responsibilities that come with nobility.” Una thought, but didn’t say, that those were the lessons Eamon was surely supposed to have taught Alistair, lessons he had utterly failed to impart to his young charge.

“Una, I’m not sure about this. Do you think—“

“What?”

“Come with me.” He led her down the hall to a large room with a warm fire. Una eyed the large bed longingly—she wasn’t sure which she looked forward to more, making love or sleeping. Both sounded quite fine to her. But judging from Alistair’s uncomfortable expression, she wasn’t likely to experience either one until she dealt with whatever was bothering him. “I’ve been thinking …”

“What?” She softened her tone as he swallowed and looked away, his cheeks flushing. “Alistair, what is it? You can tell me anything.”

Still not looking at her, he blurted out, “I don’t want to be king.”

Una winced. She wished he had a choice. Here was another instance in which being raised properly would have helped him—he would have understood the necessities that came with being responsible for the people. She didn’t say that, though. Not yet. “What brought this on?”

“I’ve been watching Arl Eamon. He makes it look so easy, ordering people around and making decisions and talking to the nobles and … I don’t know how to do any of those things.”

“You’d learn faster than you think.”

“But I don’t want to learn!” He clenched his fist, looking at it. “I’m good at fighting—it’s the only thing I was ever able to do well. I can’t lead, I can’t think properly. Don’t you see? I’m not king material.”

Una was stunned. He hadn’t talked this way in ages, not since the beginning. What had changed in the brief time they’d been apart? And then the answer came to her: Arl Eamon. Alistair saw the older man as a father figure, but Eamon had spent most of Alistair’s youth training him not to believe in himself, so that he would never cause trouble for Cailan’s rule. Una thought suddenly that Alistair’s denial of his intelligence sounded more like a description of Cailan than it did of Alistair.

She went to him, putting her hand over his clenched fist and squeezing it. “You are good at fighting, but that’s far from your only talent. And there is nothing wrong with the way you think. You enjoy learning new things—I’ve seen that, and you care about people, about listening to what they have to say. I knew Cailan, and none of those things were true of him. He hated learning, he never listened, and he was far more interested in what he had to say than in what anyone else was thinking. He was a disaster as a king, Maker rest his soul. You wouldn’t be.”

He glanced at her, and she could see the cowed little boy deep in his eyes. “You think so?”

“I know it.” Una gave his hand a little shake. “Much as I didn’t want to be a noble’s daughter, I was one, and I learned a lot from my father. Do you think I would dishonor his memory by championing someone to lead our nation who wasn’t fit for it?”

“It could be just my bloodline you’re after,” he muttered, looking half-ashamed that he’d said the words even as he was speaking.

She swallowed hard against the angry words that rose automatically to her lips. “I am a Cousland,” she said at last. “Your bloodline is nothing next to mine. But I was taught that a man’s ancestors are less important than his actions. Look at Cailan and Anora, for the Maker’s sake! One came from the precious Theirin line, one from the line of a smallholder of the Bannorn, and who made the better ruler? Not the Theirin. … Well,” she amended thoughtfully.

Alistair looked up at her.

“Anora hasn’t done much since Cailan died. Maybe they needed each other? Or maybe her father was too strong for her. My point stands, though. I don’t care about your bloodline. Especially knowing as we do that you’re the last of it.” It hurt to think about that—she would have loved to have children, to see her father’s eyes in those of her son, or her mother’s face in her daughter’s, and know that her parents, her family, the Cousland tradition would all live on through her. But that was a grief to be dealt with at a later time. Una switched her grip on Alistair to his shoulders instead, holding him still so she could look him in the eyes. “I believe in you, Alistair. I always have, and I always will. But you make it very hard for me when you refuse to believe in yourself.”

Alistair’s reached up, taking her hands down off his shoulders and holding them in his. “I believe in you. Is that a start?”

“For now. And only because I’m exhausted.” Una smiled at him. “And because I haven’t had a proper kiss yet.”

“Well, allow me to remedy that.”

The kiss was soft and sweet and reassuring, but as she laid her head on his shoulder, safe in his strong arms, Una couldn’t help but wonder how they were ever going to get through the Landsmeet if Alistair’s resolve and courage wavered every time she went away from him.


	49. Manipulated

The next morning, she woke in Alistair’s arms, stretching contentedly between the soft sheets. He was still asleep, snoring lightly, after several nightmares had awakened them both in the night. Una had had a hard time going back to sleep after the last one, and the first rays of the sun through the windows meant there was no further point in trying.

She gently disentangled herself from Alistair’s arms. He groaned, rolling over and burying his face in the pillows, but showed no further signs of awakening.

Una dressed quietly, glad to see that her armor had made it to her room. Zev, no doubt. Bless his heart. She wondered where the others were. Una was no stranger to large houses—her own family compound in Denerim was sizeable, as well—but she hardly wanted to go stomping around Eamon’s home in the early morning. At least, not if she could help it. And it was never a wise idea to knock on random doors. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of what she might find. She didn’t think Zev and Leliana had trusted each other to the point of sharing a room yet … but she certainly hoped so.

Her growling stomach directed her toward the kitchens instead, and she found Wynne already there, spreading butter on a slice of toast.

“Ah, there you are,” the mage said with a smile. “We were glad you made it in last night.”

“Yes, and just in time, too.”

“I heard the Teyrn’s voice. It carries.”

“Then you heard who he had with him, I imagine.”

“Yes. I have never met Rendon Howe, only read about him in history books of the rebellion. He is not what I would have expected.”

“He wasn’t what my parents expected, either, even after a lifetime of friendship,” Una said bitterly. She stared at the food with revulsion, despite her hunger.

“You handled yourself very well. I imagine your parents would have been proud.”

“My father would have. My mother would have wanted me to run him through and think about the consequences later.”

“Your chance will come.”

“Will it? I can hardly expect the nobles to put Alistair on the throne if I go around murdering them first.”

Wynne looked up at her. “It’s only one noble, and my suspicion, based on his attitude and Loghain’s, is that most of the nobles would be relieved to see him gone. If only,” she added with an ironic smile, “to free up all those titles again. Teyrn of Highever, Arl of Amaranthine, Arl of Denerim? Too many for one man, and the nobles will think so, too.”

“Good point.” Una reached for a slice of bread, her hunger restored.

She was almost full when Alistair burst into the kitchen. “Oh, there you are.” His attention was caught by the table full of food in front of her. “Is that cheese?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t like it,” Una assured him. “It doesn’t smell and isn’t runny and disgusting.”

“Hey!” He frowned in disappointment. “No time to eat it, anyway. Arl Eamon sent me to find you—we have a situation.”

“What situation is that?” Una popped the last bite of hard, sharp cheddar into her mouth as she followed him from the kitchen.

“You’ll see.” It wasn’t a tease—the tension in his tone told her as much. Whatever the problem was, Alistair didn’t want to talk about it.

As Una entered Eamon’s office, she saw him in the midst of a heated discussion with a dark-haired elf. She paused in the doorway, frowning. Eamon was nice enough, she supposed, but she had never known any noble, however nice, to deign to argue with an elf, outside of her own family. “Arl Eamon?” she asked eventually, when it became clear that neither of them had noticed she was there.

“Ah, Una, there you are,” he said with visible relief. “This is Erlina. She—“

“I am Queen Anora’s lady’s maid.” The elf had a thick Orlesian accent and a fairly imperious manner, judging by the way she impatiently waved Eamon’s words to a halt.

“Apparently she can speak for herself, then,” Eamon muttered sulkily. He stepped behind his desk and took his seat, leaning back and watching the two women.

“What does Queen Anora’s maid want here?” Una asked. “Her father has already made the official position clear.”

“I am here to ask for your help.” Erlina’s tone was still that of a superior speaking to a lower caste, which irritated Una—asking for help shouldn’t sound like a conferring of the royal favor. Then again, if she was a high-status elf, she thought, wouldn’t she enjoy any chance to lord it over the race that kept her people oppressed?

“What kind of help do you require?” Una asked, thinking from the phrasing that the elf was asking for assistance for herself.

“Not I—my lady, the queen. She needs your help very badly.”

“The queen needs my help? Whatever for?”

The elf’s hands flailed around in the air, searching for the right words. “The queen … she loved her husband. And she trusted her father to keep him safe when the armies went away. Then Ostagar—“

Alistair made a noise, breaking the flow of Erlina’s words as she looked at him, but he shook his head and she turned back to Una.

“She worries about the Blight, the country, this civil war, but Loghain, he says not to trouble herself.”

“Does the queen believe Loghain killed Cailan?”

Erlina gave an eloquent shrug. “She believes she cannot completely trust her father. Loghain is subtle … but Rendon Howe is not so subtle.”

Loghain subtle? That didn’t fit anything Una had ever heard about him. As for Rendon Howe … a man less subtle than Loghain could never have lulled Bryce Cousland into a false sense of friendship and trust. Una felt the hairs prickle on the back of her neck—this elf’s story could not be taken at face value. She wished Alistair was in front of her, so she could have met his eyes without drawing Erlina’s attention, but he was off to her side, so she would have to hope he didn’t commit them to anything they would all regret later.

Erlina was continuing, “The queen went to Howe demanding answers, wanting to know her father’s plans.”

“I can’t imagine that went well,” Alistair said.

“He called her names, ‘traitor’ amongst them, and then he locked her away in a guest room and will not let her out.” Erlina wrung her hands in distress. “You must help her, Grey Warden!”

“Me?” Una frowned. “Why not go to Loghain? Surely he would not appreciate having Howe treat his daughter in such a manner.”

The elf shook her head. “He would not believe me; he doesn’t trust me.” She looked up and met Una’s eyes directly. “My accent, you see. He wishes the queen to dismiss me, to send me back to Orlais.”

Una raised her eyebrows. “Loghain thinks you’re a spy?” It was interesting that the elf would admit such a thing openly, although it didn’t prove anything one way or the other.

“He does. But all I want is for Howe to let my queen out safely. You must believe that! Howe said she would make a better ally dead—I think her life is in danger!”

It all sounded so plausible, but something was bothering her. Ah, that was it. “If she’s been locked away so securely in Howe’s house, how do you know all of this?”

“Surely the queen’s safety is of paramount importance—why must you ask so many questions?” The elf stopped wringing her hands as her temper began to rise.

“Because I don’t want to walk into a trap the way Anora did.”

They stared at each other for a long moment before Erlina blinked and looked away. “She had me follow her and hide in the shadows. I was … trained in Orlais, with certain skills, which make me a valuable servant to one such as the queen, who likes to know what is going on in her city.”

So Anora employed a bard. Wasn’t that interesting, now. Una wondered if Leliana would recognize this elf if she saw her. “You hid until Howe had imprisoned her and then escaped the house?”

The elf nodded.

“And you didn’t try to rescue her?” Alistair asked.

Erlina gave him a withering look. “And reveal my presence, possibly endangering her life even more? Why would I do such a thing?”

Alistair shrugged. He’d never understood the subtleties of bards and thieves and assassins—his mindset was about attacking in a straightforward manner. And he didn’t see the value in having left the Queen of Ferelden alone in a hostile environment.

Una did, however. She had been trained in subtleties by her father and mother, even if she didn’t choose to use that training in combat. Leaving Anora behind kept Erlina’s secret identity just that, secret, and it embroiled Loghain and Howe’s greatest enemy—Una—in a mess that could potentially be fatal to either side. Or possibly both, if the goal was to return Anora to full power on the throne. It all depended on who Erlina was working for and what their priorities were, and that wasn’t something Una was likely to find out. At least, not right now. She wished very much that she could speak to Erlina alone, without Alistair’s staunchly upright ears present, or Eamon’s heavily politicized ears, for that matter. Perhaps later she could have Zev or Leliana take a run at the elf. Surely one of them could get more details.

In the meantime, there was this situation to be dealt with. There appeared to be little choice other than to appear to take this elf’s crazy story at face value and to go storm Howe’s castle and rescue the queen. Una tried to ignore the pounding of her blood in her veins at the idea of challenging Howe and exacting her revenge—she wanted to believe the story, if only to have that long-awaited opportunity. She wondered if the elf, or whoever was behind this plan, had counted on that. Maybe Howe would be lying in wait for her, to take out the last of the Couslands. But that was a risk she was going to have to take.

The elf’s eyes were on her, and when she spoke, her voice was soft, convincing. “If you won’t go to save the queen, Warden, think of the Landsmeet. You don’t want Loghain to win—how will you gain the upper hand? Perhaps, if you’ve saved the queen and she can be talked into speaking for you … Well, where would Loghain’s power be then?”

Una’s eyes flew to meet the other woman’s gaze. She didn’t like the hint of a smile she saw there, but that didn’t make the elf wrong. Yes, if Anora would speak for them, that would be a coup, indeed, and would erode Loghain’s support nicely. And the only way to find out if Anora would support them was to go and make the attempt to rescue her from Howe’s house.

Eamon cleared his throat. “The queen is well-loved, especially after the death of her husband. There would be support if you had shown that you were well-disposed in her direction. Additionally …” He pursed his lips. “We can’t risk harm to her in mysterious circumstances. Loghain and Howe could bend that to their advantage in any way they chose.”

No, there really was no other choice. Una looked at Erlina, saying flatly, “What do you propose we do?”

The elf’s face showed no flash of triumph. She got straight down to business, explaining the disposition of Howe’s troops and the constant turnover in his guards and suggesting they sneak into the servants’ entrance wearing stolen guard uniforms.

Una agreed; what else could she do? Erlina left the room, promising to go ahead and get things ready.


	50. Practicality

When Erlina was gone, Una sank into a chair next to Eamon's desk, putting her head in her hands. So much about this plan and the story behind it felt wrong to her. What traps lay in her way, what pitfalls? Would she be able to see them in time to avoid them?

"You couldn't have done anything else," Eamon said. "We couldn't afford to have it look as though we ignored a call for help from the queen … and if we could get her to help us against Loghain, her knowledge could be a powerful weapon. Imagine if his own daughter were to denounce him in the Landsmeet! They would have no choice but to go against him!" His voice was rising with excitement.

"Do you really think Anora would turn on her father?" Alistair asked.

Una looked up, wondering what Eamon would say. He had known Loghain much longer and better than either of them, and Anora as well. Una had always been so much younger, the few times she'd met Anora they'd had little to say to one another.

Eamon shrugged. "If the elf's story is to be believed, then Loghain turned against Anora first. But either way, I'd rather try to bring her out safely and ask her about her intentions than take the chance of hearing about her murder and know I could have tried to stop it and didn't."

That was easy for him to say, Una thought. He wasn't the one who stood the risk of being killed or captured in the process.

She took her leave of Eamon on the excuse of collecting the others and checking their supplies. Alistair started to follow her out of Eamon's office.

"Stay here with him," she said. "Find out everything he knows about the Landsmeet, Anora, Loghain … everything."

"Aren't I coming with you?"

Una shook her head, her mind already on finding Zev and Leliana to get their thoughts, and on how to circumvent whatever Erlina, Anora, or Howe might be planning.

Alistair grabbed her hand and pulled her to a stop, bewildered. "Una, if you have to face Howe, I want to be with you. I need to be with you." He cupped her cheek, looking into her eyes. "You don't need to protect me."

Her eyes clouded with confusion briefly, then cleared as she pulled her thoughts back to the conversation. "I want you with me, too, if that happens, and I'm not trying to protect you … at least, not in the way you think." She placed her hand over his. "Everything in me says that this is a trap, only I don't know who set it or where the danger is coming from. You and I are the only two Grey Wardens left in Ferelden, and no hope of any others coming in time to stop the Archdemon. I can't commit both of us to a non-Blight-related rescue of this nature—if we were both captured, or … injured, we could lose precious time that we're going to need. Do you understand?"

Unwillingly, Alistair nodded. He loved her practicality, but sometimes it was downright inconvenient. He had mental images of Una facing down Howe, of her losing focus in her need for vengeance and being hurt, of her falling apart and needing him once the man who had killed her family was down, of … well, he didn't know what all the potential pitfalls were, but there were a lot of them. How could he sit here comfortably in Eamon's estate and let her face them all herself?

"Alistair?" she prodded him gently, looking into his face. "I wish I felt safe with you coming, but this feels wrong."

"The queen needs our help," he said, frowning.

"Her maid, an Orlesian who admitted to bard training, says the queen needs our help. I'm not prepared to accept that at face value from someone who describes Loghain as 'subtle'. He's about as subtle as an ogre."

"Or Oghren." Alistair grinned.

"Exactly." Una kissed him on the lips, seeking comfort, and closed her eyes when his arms went around her and drew her close against the warmth of his body. "So you'll stay here, and you'll learn as much as you can?"

He nodded against her hair. "If you're not back by morning, I'm coming to get you."

"If I'm not back by morning, you'll call the Landsmeet and unite this country and go kill that sodding Archdemon. Remember what we said—Blight first."

"Blight first," Alistair agreed, resigned. He kept to himself the fact that he didn't know how he would ever be able to fight the Blight without her, knowing all too well the blistering tongue-lashing she would give him in response.

Una pulled away from him. "I'm going to go consult with Zev and Leliana. Can you tell Oghren and Wynne that I'm going to need them in about an hour?"

"Will do. You be careful," he admonished.

She forced a smile. "Of course. Aren't I always?" It was the first time in a long while that she'd contemplated going into a fight without him, and this was the biggest fight she'd ever had; she could feel the ghosts of her family on her shoulders, weighing her down with the force of their need for vengeance. And vengeance they would have, whatever it cost, she promised herself.

There was no sound from the room Zev and Leliana were sharing. Una had learned of this alteration in sleeping arrangements with a triumphant smile—she'd known it all along. She was amused that they appeared to be still sleeping now. No doubt their amorous activities had kept them up late, she thought gleefully.

The hurried whispers that followed her knock indicated that they might not actually have been sleeping.

"If you don't open up, I'm coming in there," she said through the door.

"Promise?" Zev asked, at the same time as Leliana said, "Please do."

Una chuckled. After a few more moments, Zev opened the door.

"Ah, my lovely one, I am afraid you have missed your chance to participate in our morning game."

"Of hide-and-seek," Leliana said, swatting him on the arm. "We are honing our … stealth skills by attempting to conceal ourselves from one another."

"Right. That's exactly what I thought you were doing," Una said, trying to keep a straight face.

"What, may I ask, brings you to our door?" Zev asked, closing the door behind her.

"Probably the well-dressed elf who came to visit Arl Eamon this morning," Leliana suggested. She grinned at Zev.

"Ah, the one who moved with the superior walk of an Orlesian-trained bard?" He raised his eyebrows, blowing her a kiss.

"Touche."

"If you two are quite finished?" Una crossed her arms as they exchanged a guilty glance.

"For now," Zev conceded.

"I'll pass on finding out what comes later. In the meanwhile …" Una quickly explained the purpose of Erlina's visit, and her suspicions. "Leliana, I don't suppose you ever met, or heard of, this elf?"

"No, I can't say that I have. Although it is possible that I have done so and simply do not remember her. Bards can be like that." She smiled.

"Do you think this is some sort of Orlesian plot, to lure Alistair and Anora into the same place so they can kill them both?" Una hadn't voiced that suspicion, even to herself, and she found it chilling once she had done so.

"And you," Zev pointed out. "It is possible that the Orlesians might consider a surviving Cousland even more of a threat than a surviving Theirin."

"That is true," Leliana said. "When I was learning about Ferelden, my teacher liked to point out all the times the Theirins had fallen into mishaps through their impulsiveness and how the Couslands had always been there to take up the reins of the country."

Una frowned. She hadn't thought of it that way—largely because her father and King Maric had never been close, so her father had not filled the Couslands' traditional place at the king's side. "Either way, we can't afford to ignore Anora's situation. Someone is going to have to go to Howe's and get her out, even if it means walking into a trap."

"And let me guess, you are insisting upon going yourself and leaving Alistair here in safety?" Leliana asked.

Una nodded. "I can't afford to let him walk into this kind of danger." She waited a moment for their reaction, but neither of them bothered to argue with her position. "Good." She quickly explained Erlina's plan to sneak in disguised as guards. "What I want is to have Zev come with me to Howe's while Leliana stays here and keeps an eye on Alistair."

"Won't it seem strange to have an elf posing as a guard in Ferelden?" Leliana asked.

"Possibly, but I don't want to take the chance of you being recognized by Anora's maid, or any of her confederates. Besides which, Erlina says they're pretty much scraping the barrel looking for more guards. Howe can't seem to hold onto his staff." Una couldn't help smirking a little over that. "I'm taking Oghren, too, so hopefully the focus will be on how strange it is to see a dwarf as a guard rather than on Zev."

"His breath is likely to knock out anyone who gets too close, anyway," Leliana said, giggling.

Una grinned. "That's it. You've uncovered my nefarious scheme." She turned to Zev. "Meet me in the dining room in ten minutes?"

"As you wish, my Warden."


	51. Crows

Shortly thereafter, Una, Zev, Oghren, and Wynne were making their way through the narrow alleys of Denerim. While Una tried to make certain Oghren stayed on course instead of drunkenly wandering off into doorways, Zev walked behind with Wynne.

“Zevran, how can you walk and stare at my bosom with such fixation?” the mage asked with fond exasperation.

“The carefully honed skills of many years. Besides, with such magical enticements to view, how can one tear one’s eyes away?”

“Don’t you have other enticements to view, as you put it, that are far more appropriate in age and … everything else?”

There was a pause before Zev answered, and Una couldn’t help but smile. It was nice to know he could be rattled—and by his own emotions, too.

“My dear Wynne, you sell yourself too short. You are a fine wine, a majestic cheese—“

“A cheese?” The mage’s tone was tart. “Now you sound like Alistair.”

Zev gasped. “You malign me, good lady!”

“Actually, you kind of did sound like him,” Una put in.

“Ah, then perhaps you might be disposed to a dalliance? After all, we are all aware that you find the verbal stumblings of our ex-Templar quite … motivating.”

“Give it up, Zev.”

“Elf’s just twitchy ‘cause the redhead’s too much woman for ‘im,” Oghren said, chuckling. “Now, if the old lady really wants to be taken for a ride, Oghren here’s ‘er man. I been slickin’ the bronto since before the elf here knew how to turn his own doorknob.”

“Do none of you people ever think of anything else?” Wynne asked.

“How could we, when a magically tempting bosom such as yours hovers so enticingly near?”

“Skip the fancy words, elf. Take it from me, ‘nice tits’ is all ya need.”

Wynne rolled her eyes and Una smothered a smile.

“You fail to comprehend the delicacy involved in wooing a woman, my diminutive friend. It—“

“Typical Zevran. Can’t shut up to save his life.”

The voice came from ahead of them and a bit above. Una lifted her head to see a dark-haired man standing atop the roof of a building. As soon as all their eyes were on him, he chuckled. “Of course, in this case, it doesn’t matter whether you shut up or not, Zev. Nothing’s going to save your life. Except, possibly, me.”

Una had never seen this man before, and she’d thought she’d seen just about everyone who wanted to kill them. It was depressing to know there were more of them out there.

Zev stood as if frozen to the ground as the dark-haired man gave an exaggerated bow. “The Crows send their greetings once again.”

Oh. Una had not given enough thought to how the Crows would feel once they discovered Zev’s defection, it seemed.

He had recovered his voice, if not his aplomb. Clearing his throat, he said, “And so they send you, Taliesin, of all people.”

“Oh, they didn’t send me, my old friend. I volunteered. When I heard that the great Zevran Arainai had gone rogue … well, I had to see it for myself. But not to worry—I don’t have to kill you. You could return with me. Kill the Wardens, fulfill the contract, and we’ll go back together with a long, fascinating story about how you lulled them into a false sense of security.” When Zev didn’t move or respond, Taliesin went on. “I know why you’re doing this, and I understand. If it had been my fault, I might have wanted to escape the Crows, as well. I don’t blame you in the least. But … if you don’t come back with me, you know I’ll have to kill you.”

Zev was silent, and Una looked at him with growing alarm. “Zev, no! You don’t want to go back to the Crows. You don’t have to do this!”

“Oh, that’s cute. Are you sleeping with her, Zevran?” Taliesin eyed Una up and down. “She looks like easy pickings.”

Oghren raised his axe, growling. “Come down here and I’ll show you easy pickings.”

“Never mind him, my friend,” Zev said, coming out of his stupor at last. He shook his head, looking up at Taliesin. “That time is over. The Zevran Arainai who left the Crows is as dead as if this lady here had killed him. I am not coming back … and you should have stayed in Antiva.” As he spoke, a dagger left his hand, flashing in the sun as it flew end over end and lodged itself in Taliesin’s foolishly unprotected eye. The body swayed and fell, tumbling backward off the roof.

There were scuffling sounds from around the alley, and Zev cleared his throat, saying loudly, “Taliesin is dead. Zevran is dead. You may go home and tell your Crow masters that that is what happens to those who are sent after the Wardens and their allies.”

They waited, but no one appeared. Zev’s shoulders slumped a bit as the tension left his body. Una put a hand on his shoulder, not sure what to say.

Zev looked up at her, a smile passing across his handsome face. “And there it is. Taliesin is dead and I am free of the Crows; they will assume I am dead along with him. Given his reputation, they will not believe that I could have prevailed so easily.” He shrugged. “The Crow Masters did not know him as I did. As long as I do not make my presence known to them, they will not seek me out.”

“That sounds like a good thing,” Una observed.

“A very good thing. It’s what I have been hoping for ever since you decided not to kill me.”

“You’ve just been waiting for them to jump you?”

Zev smiled. “I suspected it would be here in Denerim. The timing is right for the Crows to have discovered my continued existence and to have sent Taliesin after me.”

“Why him?”

“We were … friends. Of a sort, if the Crows can have such things. More like temporary allies. Nonetheless, the Crows would have expected being confronted with Taliesin to throw me off, leave me vulnerable. It didn’t.” He shrugged.

Una watched him for a moment. “Does it bother you, to have killed him?”

“If not I, someone else would have.” Zev paused for a moment, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “Perhaps it may be time for us to part ways. There is a freedom waiting for me that I have never contemplated. But—I suppose the decision is yours. Will you let me go?”

“Let you go? Zev, you don’t belong to me. If you want to go, that’s entirely up to you.” And Leliana, she thought, but she wouldn’t bring up the bard unless he did. “But I wish you would stay. I need your help—not just today, but through the rest of the Blight.”

“Do you?” He looked startled for a moment, but quickly covered it with a signature grin. “I am ridiculously awesome, I suppose I should not be surprised that you require my skills in your endeavor. And there are many worse things to do with one’s time than saving the world …”

“It’s not just your skills. I’m asking you to stay as my friend.”

A rare, truly genuine smile lit his face for just a moment before he recovered himself. “And who could resist such a request?” He reached up, clasping her shoulder briefly. “Very well. I shall stay. I will not abandon you to the wolves just yet.”

“Thank you, Zev.”

“Mm.” He nodded, glancing away, deflecting her sincerity. “Do we not have a queen to rescue? I know that I, for one, very much look forward to making the acquaintance of the beauteous Queen Anora.”

“Beauteous isn’t exactly the word.”

“Does the lovely Grey Warden wish me not to express my appreciation of someone else’s attractions?” He gave her a roguish look.

Una shook her head, not biting. “No, not that. Just … Anora is capable and cold and intelligent and composed and ladylike, and quite attractive, but her beauty isn’t the first thing most people notice about her. She’s not one of those women who trades on her looks.”

“And you respect her for that,” Zev finished, nodding in understanding.

“Respect … and pity. A queen is supposed to look well and adorn a room. Her intelligence is a surprise to most, off-putting to many, and was not appreciated by Cailan. That much was plain to see. She’d start talking and halfway through whatever she was trying to say, he’d be yawning and off onto something else.” Una snorted a laugh. “He was far more one to trade on his looks. He found himself entrancing and assumed women did, as well.”

“And did you?” It was Wynne’s voice, joining the conversation for the first time as they made their way through the narrow alleys.

“Not really. He was too old for me, for one thing, and too short, for another.” She smiled. “And I was not at all his type. I think we were both glad for the long-standing agreement between Loghain and King Maric, because otherwise a completely unsuitable political marriage might have lain in our future.” For a brief moment, she wondered what it would have been like today had she been forced into being queen on her eighteenth birthday. Could she have prevented Cailan’s death at Ostagar, changed the course of the Blight? Not that she would have wanted that fate—Anora was far better suited to Cailan, and had been exactly the queen he needed.


	52. Entry

They were drawing near the Arl of Denerim’s estate now. The streets were familiar to Una—she had walked here with her parents, with Fergus and Oriana, the last time she’d been in Denerim. There had been a party, she remembered, and Arl Uriens’ son, Vaughan, had been there, making eyes at her. He’d been attractive, but something about him … he had seemed so possessive, making assumptions about her likes and dislikes, and about their relationship.

Still, unpleasant though Vaughan Kendalls might be, he was infinitely preferable to Rendon Howe, the sneaky, backstabbing bastard. The need for vengeance burned in Una’s blood as strongly as if the massacre at Highever Castle had been yesterday.

She caught Zev’s eyes on her and was grateful for his presence. Of them all, he was most likely to keep his wits about him on this trip, and not get caught up in emotion.

Erlina stepped out of a doorway in front of her. “You have come,” she said in a tone that strove for relieved and didn’t quite get there. She looked past Una, and sniffed. “A dwarf, an elf, and an old woman? Surely you do not expect to get past Arl Howe’s guards without more help than this?”

Wynne and Zevran held their tempers, but Oghren unshouldered his axe with an enraged grunt. “Who are you callin’ a dwarf, snooty?”

“You are a dwarf, my friend,” Zev said, a chuckle in his voice.

“And proud of it!” Oghren subsided, giving Erlina a triumphant look that did nothing to improve her opinion of him, to judge by the disgusted curl of her lip.

“You disappoint me, Warden,” she said.

“May I remind you that you came to me,” Una said. “Beggars can’t always be choosers.”

“I had thought you would bring the other Warden, and perhaps your dog. They would be stout fighters in my queen’s cause.”

If Una hadn’t already been suspicious about this ‘rescue mission’, Erlina’s words would have raised her hackles. As it was, she thanked the Maker for giving her the foresight to leave Alistair behind, with Leliana and Grenli on orders to guard him well. Looking down at the elf from her far greater height, she said, “I assure you, these people have served me well in many fights, should it come to that. And if Rendon Howe is in there, it will.”

“All the more reason you should have brought the other Warden, so that in case Arl Howe is there you do not provoke him!”

Provoke Howe? She’d show him some provocation, if he needed any. Una’s fist clenched at her side.

“I thought our intention was to avoid Howe. Do you mean nothing has been done to ensure that he is no longer in the house?” Zev asked, the calmness in his voice bringing Una back to the needs of the present.

“Why …” Erlina was thrown off guard by the question. For a bard, she wasn’t very well-trained, Una thought. Leliana would have thrown off five plausible responses in the time it was taking Erlina to come up with one. “I had little time at my disposal—best to get my lady the queen out of her predicament at once, no? So I came straight to you and was not able to determine Howe’s whereabouts first.”

“We’ll just have to take what we find,” Una said, hoping her matter-of-fact tone would mask how very much she hoped Rendon Howe would turn a corner and walk right into the maul she carried. She would take great pleasure in caving his skull in.

As they approached the front entrance of the Arl of Denerim’s mansion, Una could hear shouting. A knot of people stood in front of the gates, held back by three armed guards who blocked their access. In the cacophany, Una couldn’t make out what the mob was shouting about. She asked Erlina, who shrugged.

“Arl Howe has few friends. He mistreats his servants, he builds many things and does not pay for his supplies. It is only a matter of time.”

Una hoped the elf was right. She further hoped that Howe’s time was already running out.

Erlina went on, “We must get past the crowd. I know the way around to the servants’ entrance. There will be a great many guards inside.” She looked them over. “Three of you might be able to fit in as guards; Howe has gone through so many he no longer bothers to make their armor match. You,” she said, looking at Wynne, “could pass for a cook’s assistant.”

“As long as no one asks me to actually cook something, that should prove adequate.” Wynne had little skill at cooking—the few times she’d taken a turn, they’d ended up with charred meat and nothing else. The Circle hadn’t exactly prepared her for life outside. 

Mercifully, Erlina stopped talking as they drew near the walls of the estate. Finding a back entrance by the gardens, she unhooked the gate and held it for them. Una was surprised—she remembered her visits to the Howes’ homes in Denerim and Amaranthine, and guards had always swarmed thickly around every entrance. Howe must truly be either running out of money, or spread too thin, or both. Good.

Two guards stood outside the servants’ entrance. Una looked at Erlina, waiting to see if the elf would volunteer to distract the guards, but she didn’t move.

“Allow me,” Zev said. He motioned to Wynne, speaking rapidly to her. The mage nodded. Taking up an old basket someone had left behind, she gathered a number of vegetables.

Erlina watched the proceeding scornfully.

“What?” Una whispered.

“Your friend, the herbalist,” the elf said, sneering the last word, “knows nothing about picking vegetables.”

Una looked at the basket. It all looked fine to her. Perhaps the tomatoes were a bit less red than what she was used to seeing.

Erlina shook her head. “They are half-ripe, at best. Anyone familiar with the growing of crops would notice such a thing.”

“Oh.” Una, of course, knew little about growing crops. Oghren wouldn’t have noticed, either, or Wynne, raised in a tower, or Zev, raised in the midst of Antiva City. She supposed it didn’t matter much—the vegetables were only a cover, anyway—but still, it was interesting how large their collective knowledge gap was.

Zev ushered Wynne, carrying her basket, toward the door where the guards waited.

“What’s this?” the first one asked, glaring at them suspiciously.

“This lady was tasked with selecting produce for the guards’ luncheon,” Zev explained smoothly. “I am to take her straight to the kitchen.”

“I am pretty hungry,” the second guard said, patting his stomach.

“Where’d you come from?” asked the first one.

“The garden.”

“I didn’t see you go out there, and I’ve been here all morning.”

“You have not!” the second guard said indignantly. “What about that hour-long ‘bathroom break’ you took, and the smoke break, and when you said you felt faint in the sun, and …”

“Gentlemen, may we pass? The lady has been working for hours in the hot sun, and we would not want her to become unconscious,” Zev said.

The first guard gave both Zev and Wynne long up-and-down looks. Grudgingly, he motioned them past.

As they walked between the guards, Zev’s hand flashed out, the hilt of his dagger connecting with the back of the first guard’s skull. Wynne spoke two quiet words and laid her hand on the arm of the second guard, and he crumpled, asleep before he hit the ground.

“Impressive,” Erlina muttered. She didn’t seem surprised that Wynne was a mage. Of course, Una thought, Anora would have wanted to know the make-up of the Wardens’ party. She’d always been a person who liked knowing things and found power in it.

Zev motioned to them from the door, and they hurried in. Una felt her knees tremble as the door closed behind her. For the first time since the slaughter of her family, she was in the same building with Rendon Howe.

_Mother, Father, I promise you. If it is in my power, Howe will never leave this building alive._ She pressed her lips together to stop them from trembling, and pushed past Zev and Wynne to lead them into the kitchen.

Wynne laid her basket down surreptitiously on a table near the door. The harried cook paid none of them any notice except to snap, “No guards in my kitchen! Keep moving and get back where you belong.”

“Of course. Sorry to intrude,” Una said, keeping her voice as low as possible. Her height meant she could pass, in armor, for a very thin man, as long as she spoke little. She signaled the others to follow her through the kitchen and into what appeared to be the guardsmen’s dining hall.

A noisy group huddled in the corner, shouting over a dice game. None of them looked up as Una and her people passed through the room.


	53. Anora

In the hallway beyond, Una paused, holding up a hand. She closed her eyes, trying to remember the layout of the house. She’d never been in the servants’ and guards’ areas, of course, but knowing where they had come in, she mentally navigated the turns that would take them to the guest room where Erlina had said the queen was being held. The elf had wanted to accompany them, but dressed as she was in keeping with her position as the queen’s lady’s maid, she would have drawn more attention than was necessary. Not to mention that Una didn’t trust her.

Once she felt she was oriented as well as she could be, Una led them down a hallway and around a corner. After a couple of misturns into empty barracks rooms, they came through the arched doorway into the public portion of the house. In all their wanderings, they hadn’t met a single person—no elven servants, no guards outside the kitchen areas.

“I do not like this,” Zev muttered to her, very quietly.

“No.” Una would have liked to think that perhaps Howe’s money troubles extended to this lack of servants and guards … but given Erlina, and Anora, she had to think it was more likely to be a deliberate trap for an unwary Warden. She wished she had thought to ask Leliana to trail them, just in case. Then again, she preferred to have Leliana with Alistair, to counteract his too-trusting nature and safeguard him from any attempts on his life. Una and her party would simply have to keep on their toes.

At last they reached the bedroom wing. As they approached the door behind which Anora was supposed to be locked, Wynne held up a hand. “That does not feel right,” she said softly.

“Somethin’ in yer knickers, hot stuff?” Oghren gave a dirty chuckle. “I’d love to make you not feel right.”

“I’m sure you would,” Una said, pushing past him to stand next to Wynne. “What is it?”

“There appears to be a magical barrier of some kind in front of the door.” The mage closed her eyes, concentrating. “It’s a magic of a type I am not familiar with.” She opened her eyes and looked at Una. “Which means, I’m afraid, that there’s nothing I can do to counteract it.”

“Wonderful.” Una glared at the door in front of her. “Zev, any thoughts?”

He shook his head. “Magical barriers are not my forte, more’s the pity.”

“Pity indeed. Can I approach it?” she asked Wynne.

Narrowing her eyes thoughtfully, Wynne considered the question. “It appears to be more protective than anything else, mostly to bar the door, but I wouldn’t get too close.”

“How close is too close?”

Wynne shrugged.

“This just keeps getting better and better,” Una muttered under her breath as she edged nearer to the door. Raising her voice a little, she called, “Anora?”

“Yes?” The voice was exactly as she remembered: cold, precise, and impatient. “Who is that? Your voice sounds familiar.”

“You’ll have to place it yourself, Your Highness. Mine is not a name I can shout through a door, not in this house.”

There was a silence, then a shocked intake of breath from the other side of the door. “Oh! I … had not been told you had survived.”

“Few people knew that I had. And fewer were alive to talk about what happened in the first place.”

“I understand it was a terrible accident.”

Una couldn’t tell if the sympathy in Anora’s voice was sincere or put on, and didn’t much care. She snorted in humorless laughter. “Yes. The castle’s entire staff accidentally fell on the swords of Rendon Howe’s mercenaries.”

“Mercenaries?” the Queen asked. Then, in a more business-like tone, she said, “Never mind that. We can discuss history later. I had asked Erlina to bring the Grey Wardens to rescue me. I cannot imagine where she found an ex-noblewoman.”

The brush-off of her family’s murders and the easy dismissal of herself as an ex-noblewoman infuriated Una. For a minute, she actually considered turning around and walking out of the building and leaving Her Royal Majesty exactly where she was. But the thought of Rendon Howe getting away with one more thing stopped her. “I am a Grey Warden, Your Majesty.”

“I thought the Grey Warden was a man. One with— Well, no matter. We can get properly reacquainted once I’m out of here … but that presents a bit of a problem.”

“A magical barrier. Yes, so I’ve noticed.”

“You have? Good. Now you need to find the mage who cast the spell. Almost certainly he will be at Howe’s side.”

“You don’t say.” Una couldn’t help the smile that spread over her face. “Then I’d better go find Howe, don’t you think?”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“You stay put, Your Highness, we’ll be back.”

“Where would I go?” Anora called tartly through the door.

Una wasn’t certain if she believed the queen was truly a prisoner, but then, she wasn’t certain it mattered, either. She had a job to do and a vengeance to perform, and fortunately for her the two tasks dovetailed quite nicely.

“Now you are thinking like an assassin,” Zev whispered to her, offering her a wolfish smile. Una returned it, glad that Alistair wasn’t here. He would have understood why she felt the way she did … but not necessarily condoned the cold-blooded way she was looking forward to Rendon Howe’s blood staining her armor.

“This way,” she said, pointing down the hall and leading the way toward the family bedrooms.

The halls were deserted, no guards or family. Of course, Howe’s family would be in Amaranthine. Una thought briefly of Delilah, whom she had always rather liked, and of Nathaniel, whom she would have liked better if he wasn’t constantly bragging. Thomas she had never cared for. He was too coarse and generally drunk by the time he got around to talking to her at parties.

A giggling sound came from a room to her left. Zev held up a hand for quiet and rested an ear against the door, listening for a moment. He chuckled softly as he rejoined her. “A serving wench taking the opportunity to entertain in the family bedrooms. They will not bother us.”

“Lucky wench,” Oghren said, chuckling low in his throat.

“She wouldn’t be if Rendon Howe caught her there.” Una shuddered to think what the result of that confrontation would be. “Up here. Zev?” She hoped Howe’s bedroom door wasn’t locked; Zev’s lockpicking skills were coming along under Leliana’s patient tutelage, but they weren’t quite there yet. And Howe would have a good lock, if he had one at all.

But the door wasn’t locked. It swung open easily at Zev’s touch. Una shook her head at Howe’s arrogance, thinking no one would touch his belongings just because they were his.

“Is he in there?” she mouthed at Zev, who shook his head. She let the elf go first, his sharp eyes on the lookout for traps as he went, but he found none.


	54. Wardens

Once inside Howe’s bedroom, they scattered, quickly and efficiently ransacking the room. Una didn’t care if Howe knew someone had been there; she didn’t even care if he knew it was her.

In a chest near Howe’s large bed she found something she hadn’t expected: papers bearing the seal of the Grey Wardens. Frowning, she flipped through the sheaf of them, but they were all encrypted, and Duncan hadn’t managed to pass on any codebooks before he did. Nor had they had found any codebooks in his belongings when they went back to Ostagar, so either he kept all the codes in his head or there was a Warden stronghold they didn’t know about. Either way, what were Warden papers doing in Rendon Howe’s bedroom? She tucked them carefully away to show to Alistair later.

The others had finished tossing the room. Wynne had a book she thought looked interesting and Zev had found an amulet, but there was nothing to tell them about Howe’s plans for Anora or how to break down the magical barrier holding her in that guest room.

“There is a door there,” Zev said, pointing to a part of the wall that looked just like all the rest of the wall to Una. “Perhaps more answers lie behind it?”

“Let’s find out.”

They waited, more or less patiently, as Zev probed around the edges of what he insisted was a door until he found the release mechanism, and disabled the trap that was attached to it.

“Well done, Zev.”

“Ah, thank you, beautiful one. It is a pleasure to perform these tasks for you.”

“I thought we’d gone beyond meaningless flattery,” Una remarked as she moved past him into a chilly stone hallway.

“Old habits die hard.” Courteously, he let Wynne precede him.

Una paused at the end of the hallway. She could hear breathing around the corner. One guard, at least, possibly two. She held up two fingers so the others would know what she had concluded, and turned the corner.

A guard who had been dozing against the wall jumped up, giving a shout of surprise. He moved toward her, which brought him in front of a cell built into the chamber. A muscular arm furred with dark hair slid between the bars and wrapped itself around the guard’s neck before he could even draw his weapon. He was dragged back against the bars, gurgling as the life was choked out of him.

Even as the body was sliding to the ground, that same arm was detaching the mass of keys from the belt and drawing them into the cell.

Una could feel a tingling in her blood, almost as if darkspawn were present. Or Alistair! But that arm was too slim and the hair too dark to be Alistair, even if it were possible for him to have been captured in the time since she’d left Eamon’s.

“Introduce yourself, brother Warden.” The voice that came from the cell was husky and deep and Orlesian in accent.

“Sister Warden,” Una corrected.

“Really? How very interesting. Ah! Perhaps you are the recruit Duncan was so very eager to acquire. From Highever?”

“He must have written to you about me.” It was strange carrying on a conversation with a voice whose body she couldn’t see, but from the disappearance of the guard’s body and the clanks and thuds that came from the cell, the Grey Warden was dressing himself. “Do you know about … Ostagar?”

“Yes.” The Warden cleared his throat, but his voice was still thick with grief when he spoke. “We could feel it, we Wardens, the loss of a great number of our brothers. Someday we will have to speak about how it is that you were spared.”

“Someday we will have to speak about a great many things,” Una snapped, not liking the implication of censure. “For example, about how it is that two junior Wardens have been left to fight the Blight alone by the rest of the Wardens of Thedas.”

“You have our apologies for that.”

“I would rather have had your blades and your counsel.”

“Ah, Duncan was correct. You are a spirited—and beautiful—addition to our ranks.” The Warden finally made his appearance, bowing courteously to Una and her companions. He was thin and pale and dirty from his incarceration, but it was clear that when he was in good condition he was a beautiful addition to the ranks himself. Long dark hair, twinkling eyes full of fun, and a face that was the definition of ‘ruggedly handsome’. Una was glad her heart was fully committed elsewhere, because this man looked dangerous—and irresistible. He went on, “I am Riordan, of Jader.”

“Una. Of Ferelden,” she added pointedly.

“You should know that we did try, but we were turned back at the borders of the country.”

“How is that possible?” Una asked. “You were called to us before the battle of Ostagar; there wasn’t time, and there weren’t men enough to close off the entire border afterward, not firmly enough to keep out the Wardens.”

“We were tasked by the Empress to go to Ferelden’s aid with her chevaliers. When they could not cross …” Riordan left the sentence there, shrugging eloquently.

“So the Wardens chose to obey the Orlesian empress rather than go to the aid of their own people against the Blight?” Zev asked.

“So much for neutrality.” Una glared at Riordan.

“It is difficult to fight a Blight without the cooperation of the populace,” Riordan said. He smiled, but it no longer looked charming to Una’s eyes.

“And you know that from your vast Blight-fighting experience, do you?”

“Una.” Wynne’s voice was a gentle reminder that they didn’t have all day.

“I don’t have time for this right now. Meet me at Arl Eamon Guerrin’s estate later this afternoon,” she told Riordan.

He seemed surprised at his abrupt dismissal, then laughed. “With any luck, I can talk my way into a bath before I see you again. How refreshing that will be!”

Una nodded at him and continued past him toward the stairs that led farther down, almost certainly into more dungeons.

“I doubt that bath will be taken alone,” Zev remarked with some amusement.

“Looks like he knows what to do with the ladies,” Oghren agreed.

“With the gentlemen as well, I imagine.” Wynne chuckled when they all turned to stare at her. “You don’t imagine the mages’ tower is a place one can retain any amount of innocence, do you?”

“Oh, Wynne, how I would love to nestle on your magical bosom and have you tell me all your tales,” Zev said wistfully.

“What he said,” Oghren grunted.

“If the three of you would mind getting back to business?” Una appreciated their attempt to lighten the mood, but her stomach was tied in knots at the prospect of descending these stairs and finding Howe at the bottom of them. The only way to keep from throwing up, she decided, was to keep moving. She’d worry about this Riordan and the rest of the Wardens and what his presence might mean later.

Halfway down the stairs, however, it occurred to her to wonder what Alistair’s reaction would be to seeing a real Warden walk through the door of Eamon’s. What an incredible error that had been—she’d be lucky if Alistair didn’t tell Riordan absolutely everything and lay the whole of Ferelden in his lap to boot. And she had no idea how much of Riordan’s too-smooth story and his equally too-smooth self to trust. “Damn,” she whispered softly.

Zev gave her an inquiring look, but she waved him off, concentrating instead on negotiating the dark narrow stairs and not hitting her head on the rather low ceiling. There was nothing to be done about Alistair and Riordan right now. The best thing she could do would be to hurry up this task, get Anora out, hopefully slaughter Rendon Howe like the dirty dog he was, and get back to Alistair to resolve that situation.


	55. Dungeon

She couldn’t help thinking for a moment of Una Cousland, daughter of a teyrn, who had complained about having to wear pretty clothes and take hot scented baths and sit down to sumptuous meals. There were definitely times when she envied that younger self.

Then again, Lady Cousland of Highever had a lot of doors closed to her that were open for Una the Grey Warden, she reflected, pausing at the door at the bottom of the stairs. Grimly, she raised her foot and kicked it open, taking a savage satisfaction in the solid thud against her boot and the clunk as it bounced off the stone wall of the dungeons.

Said clunk echoed pretty badly, and Oghren chortled. “Not goin’ by stealth this time, eh, Warden? Good on ya, girly. Oghren’s with ya!”

Zev was silent, and she hoped he understood her need to walk into the lion’s den without fear, as the warrior she was.

“Wynne, hang back a bit, will you?” she said softly. “Zev, you’re with her. I’d rather have her in the shadows healing Oghren and me than in the fray.”

“Very sensible, my dear,” Wynne murmured.

Zev nodded, taking Wynne’s arm and melting away into the darkness left by the guttering candles along the walls.

Once the iron door was open, they could hear the screaming. It sent chills down Una’s back, and Oghren’s green eyes turned icy and alert as he unshouldered his ax. Suddenly it didn’t matter as much about finding Howe—she wanted to save the people who were screaming.

The first few rooms they looked in were empty; one held caged mabari who snarled and snapped impotently behind their locked doors. Una was glad of it; they looked like Grenli, some of them, and it would have broken her heart to kill them. The trainer, on the other hand, was fair game, especially when he came at her with a whip.

The screaming got louder as they approached the next room, and Una broke open the door with a blow of her hammer. A second blow took care of the guard at the door, and then she and Oghren set to work on the crew of torturers who came streaming at them from the back room. She didn’t even pause to wonder what kind of man needed a dozen torturers—she knew all too well, and she was glad for the first time that her family had died quickly.

Once they were down, she took stock of the people in the two rooms. Most of them were elves, and all dead, until she reached the last table. Stretched there on the rack lay a blond man moaning in pain.

Under the blood and dirt on his face, Una recognized him. “Oswyn!”

“Who?” He opened his eyes, slits in his anguished face.

Zev was there next to her, his nimble fingers unfastening the straps that held Oswyn to the table.

“Oswyn, it’s me. Una Cousland. You used to pull my pigtails, remember?”

“U-Una?” He blinked rapidly, trying to focus. Gently Una put an arm behind his back and helped him sit up. “I thought you were dead.”

“I get that a lot.”

Wynne appeared at her side now, wrinkled but capable hands probing at Oswyn’s bare chest and stomach to determine what damage there had been. The mage’s mouth drew itself into a disapproving line, and she began to mutter under her breath, although whether the words were spells or curses against the torturers, Una couldn’t tell.

“Don’t mind her,” she said to Oswyn. “She’s a mage. She’ll soon set you right again.”

“And you? You’re not a ghost …”

“No, all too real. I’m a Grey Warden, conscripted the night my family was killed.”

“None of the others survived?”

She shook her head.

“I’m sorry.” His eyes were clearer now, the lines of pain receding from his face as Wynne worked. “What are you doing here? Did my father send you?” He frowned darkly. “I hope this wasn’t his idea of teaching me a lesson, leaving me down here this long.”

“I haven’t seen your father. I’m here on behalf of the rightful king, Alistair.”

“Maric’s bastard? I’ve heard of him. No question why you’re here, then—he’s the biggest threat against Loghain and Howe’s rule.” He reached up toward her, then pulled his arm back with a muttered curse of pain. Wynne immediately shifted her focus to his arms and shoulders. “I’m grateful to you, Una. Maker knows how long I’ve already been down here, and I don’t think he’d ever have let me out alive.”

“Why were you down here in the first place? It seems strange that Howe would try to pick a fight with your father. Oswyn’s father is Bann Sighard, of Dragon’s Peak,” she explained for her companions’ benefit.

“He’s alienatin’ his deshyrs by torturin’ their kids?” Oghren asked. “Only works if he needs their votes for somethin’, and then only once.”

“Could that be it?” Wynne asked. “Is he holding this young man to ensure his father’s vote in the Landsmeet?”

“It seems sensible. Oswyn, how did you end up down here?”

“My wet nurse, her son was at Ostagar. He snuck back into the city, afraid to be branded a traitor like the Grey Wardens—er, sorry,” he said, looking uncomfortably at Una.

She waved it away. “I’ll explain later.”

“Right. Anyway, we’d been raised together, friends since birth, so he came to me. He told me his unit had been ordered to turn their backs on Cailan’s army. The next day, he went to the market to reoutfit himself, and he never came back. When I went to look for him, I …” He frowned, trying to remember. “I turned into an alley, and—that’s all I remember.”

“Ah,” Zev said softly. “Not to bargain with his life for a vote, but to conceal what he knows. Probably forever.”

“What? You think Rendon Howe would have had me killed because I found out what happened at Ostagar?”

“There is a lot of that going around,” Zev said. He quirked an eyebrow at Una with a faint smile.

“Too much. And we can’t all be chased by assassins with hearts of gold,” she answered. “I’ll explain later,” she said to Oswyn, who was looking confused.

“If I’m here because of Ostagar, is Loghain behind this?” he asked.

“He grows more ruthless the closer the Landsmeet draws, or so it seems,” Zev replied.

“Then there is a Landsmeet after all? Howe told me that the Arl of Redcliffe was dead and the Landsmeet had been called off.”

“No, Arl Eamon is very much alive,” Una assured him. “And the Landsmeet is coming up. It’s terrible timing, but we could really use Dragon’s Peak’s support.”

Oswyn squeezed her hand. “And you’ll have it. Your family and mine go back a long way, and I’d back Cousland against Howe and Mac Tir any day.” He looked around at the grimy room with a shudder of distaste. “And once he hears about this, so will my father, I can guarantee that.”

“Thank you, Oswyn. Now, we need to get you out of here. Do you think you can make it on your own?”

He tested his arms and legs experimentally.

Wynne watched him with concern. “The legs will be fine, but I worry about the arms. Come and see me tomorrow at the Arl of Redcliffe’s estate and I will do some more work on them.”

“Thank you,” he said. Una gave him hurried directions to the tunnel that led to Howe’s bedroom and out of the building, assuming that would be the easiest way for him to go, and they scrounged some spare clothes from a chest to cover him up.


	56. Showdown

Once Oswyn was safely on his way out of the dungeons, Una and her team turned the opposite direction, working their way deeper into the warrens of rooms. She wondered why this all existed—while it was well within Howe’s capabilities and interests to have had all these dungeons built, this was the Arl of Denerim’s residence, and she’d never heard that the Kendalls were all that bloodthirsty. Then again, no doubt she wouldn’t have heard if they were. Torture wasn’t exactly juicy gossip, or at least, not among her set.

“Perhaps we could finish this up,” Wynne said, her normally gentle voice hard and filled with urgency. Oswyn’s condition had clearly upset her.

“Gladly.” Una led the way farther into the dungeons. At the back of a room filled with Howe’s men, a hard-fought battle, they found a block of cells. Most of those inside were dead, but one, a thin elf, came weakly toward the door of his cell, gripping the bars.

“Please, what month is it? Are you … are you some enemy of Arl Uriens?” His voice was weak and hoarse, but he was fighting hard to stand on his feet, and Una respected that.

“Arl Uriens is dead.”

“Dead? Then who’s ruling? His son, Vaughan, he—“ The elf paused, looking at Una and her companions, particularly Zev, closely, then went on, his voice a little stronger. “He struck me down and I ended up here.”

“For a vicious crime, no doubt,” Zev said with heavy sarcasm.

“On my wedding day,” the elf replied. “After he took my bride and her wedding party for …” He swallowed. “For his own pleasure.”

Una closed her eyes, wincing. It didn’t surprise her; Vaughan had always had a bit of a cruel streak.

“King Cailan is dead; Vaughan hasn’t been seen. He may have died on the battlefield, I don’t know.” Where was Vaughan? she wondered. “For now, the throne is in the hands of Queen Anora and her father, Teyrn Loghain, and the arling in the hands of Rendon Howe.”

“I don’t know that name.” The elf passed his hand across his face. “Will you—can I go? I want to see my family.”

“Of course.” Una nodded at Zev, who began on the lock. “Is there anything you need? Healing, supplies?”

The elf was staring at Zev’s hands, hungrily, as if he could taste the free air outside the dungeons. “No. I just want to go home.”

The lock sprang free and Zev stepped aside. There were smiles on all their faces as the thin elf made his way through the dungeon and out the door.

At least, Una thought, they had done some good here today, no matter what else lay ahead. Oswyn and this too-long-imprisoned elf were on their way home.

Zev led the way back out into the main passageway, and paused outside a heavy iron door. He glanced back at Una.

This was it. Something in her told her that this was where Howe would be—concealed behind a thick layer of metal, prepared and waiting for whatever came through the door. She closed her eyes, picturing her family. Her father, her mother. Oren. Oriana. Fergus. This would be for them, and for Rory Gilmore who had bought her time to escape with his life and for Mother Mallol and Nan and all the other servants and retainers whose life had been lost to this man’s greed and betrayal.

She opened her eyes and nodded at Zev, who made quick work of the lock for once. The door swung open.

Una stepped through, and stopped just inside, looking down at the man who stood in the center of the room. He seemed small and somehow frail in his light armor.

Howe crossed his arms over his chest, clearly not seeing the situation the way she did. His lip curled in disgust as he looked her over, her fine armor splashed with blood, her face and hair sweaty. “Well. Look here. Bryce Cousland’s ‘little spitfire’, all grown up and still playing the man. I never thought you’d be fool enough to turn up here.” He gave an unpleasant smile. “But then, I never thought you’d live, either.”

“More fool you,” Una said shortly, afraid to trust her voice. She wanted to scream, and cry, and be sick. Clenching her teeth, she reminded herself what was at stake here. Her family’s vengeance, yes, but also Ferelden herself. This was no time to lose control.

Sighing in annoyance, Howe said, “Is this about your family? Still?”

She didn’t need Zev’s faint murmur from behind her to be aware that Howe was baiting her and not to fall for it, but the reminder that she wasn’t alone helped.

Howe’s smirk said he knew how his words were affecting her, and she let him see her increasing agitation. Let him think she was on the edge, ready to snap, impulsive and lacking control as she had been the last time they’d seen each other in Highever Castle. Howe didn’t have to know how she had changed since then, or how much she had learned.

He went on, feigning earnestness. “I have done so much more than merely wipe your family’s name from Fereldan memory. All that’s left now is a fool husk of a daughter likely to end her days under a rock in the Deep Roads.”

How on Thedas did he know about that? Una wondered. That was supposed to be a Grey Warden secret. Or maybe it was only secret from hapless new recruits … maybe the ruling factions all knew how the Grey Wardens worked. When she returned to Arl Eamon’s, Riordan would have a few extra questions to answer.

“Oh, did you expect me not to know? Shame, really, that even the Wardens are gone now. No one to answer all your endless little questions.” Howe’s voice dropped, silky and smooth. It made Una’s flesh crawl. “You are the last of nothing, my dear. This is all so pointless. You’ve lost.”

Una shivered, fighting the effect of his words. He wanted her off-balance, emotional, uncontrolled, but she had learned too much to fall for that, done too much. “I know your game,” she said. “Stop it. No shadows; no lies. Just you and me. You owe that debt of honor to my father.”

Howe’s eyebrows flew up. “Honor.” He gave a small, incredulous little laugh. “You outdated fool. It’s time for you to join your parents.”

“You go first,” Una snarled. “Tell them I sent you.”

His composure was shaken for the first time. “Ah, there it is. That damned look in the eye that marked every Cousland success that ever kept me down. Perhaps you have made something of yourself after all—you’ve certainly been a thorn in my side. Your father would be so proud,” he sneered. “I, on the other hand, want you dead more than ever.”

“Give it your best shot.” Una stood there, hands at her sides, waiting.

Howe raised a hand, signaling the mage who stood behind him. Una moved quickly aside at the signal, and Wynne appeared in the doorway behind her, a fist of earth barrelling across the room to catch Howe’s mage square in the chest and send him sprawling backward.

Out of the corner of her eye, Una saw movement to her right. She ducked just in time for the second mage’s blast of energy to whistle over her head. He never got off a second one—Zev appeared in the doorway and a dagger flashed briefly in the air before embedding itself in the mage’s throat.

Oghren was charging one of the two archers in the room, and Wynne had the second one temporarily frozen. All of which left Una free to target Arl Howe, the way every drop of her family’s spilled blood was screaming for her to do.

“I am going to pulverize every bone in your body. Slowly,” she promised him. She dragged her thoughts away from poor little Oren—if she thought of him, or of Orana, she would weaken herself. Instead, Una thought of Rory Gilmore. He had stood firm to the last, holding the doors that she could escape. Her mother had stood over her father’s body with a single dagger. Una would be worthy of them today.

“You may try,” Howe said. “I was defeating better fighters than you when your father was still learning how to buckle his armor.”

“Maybe so. That just means your day is past. My day is here now.”

They were circling each other slowly, feinting a little here and there, but neither of them had opened the battle. Around her, Una was aware that the rest of her team was victorious. Something in her said she could stop now, take the man prisoner, but she couldn’t, not and live with herself afterward.

“My day is right now—I own this country,” Howe said, a self-satisfied smile crossing his face.

Una couldn’t help but smile. “The Archdemon owns this country. I wish I could let you live to see his domination—it would richly reward you for your treachery. But the rest of Ferelden doesn’t deserve the vengeance that would be most appropriate for you.”

She struck out with the hammer, but Howe dodged away from her nimbly. He had a pair of gleaming daggers in his hands suddenly that hadn’t been there before, and he was darting in to get inside the reach of her weapon. But Una had practiced with Zev and Leliana for just that reason. She waited for him to come, and then took a large step to the side, swinging as she went.

The broad head of the hammer caught Howe in the side, sending him staggering. He dropped the right-hand dagger, clutching his ribs. “I’ll kill you,” he growled, turning to face her again.

“You have to reach me first.” She swung again, catching him in the shoulder. He cried out.

Another blow, this time landing on his leg. And another, again in the side. He was down now, on the floor.

“Beg for your life,” she said, standing over him. Her cheeks were wet with tears she had no memory of shedding. “Beg the way my sister-in-law did for her son’s life, the way my mother did for my father’s!”

He looked up at her, the venom in his eyes undimmed. “I will never beg you. I deserved more than this.” Howe gasped for breath, groping about him for his fallen daggers. “Maker spit on you.”

Una bent over, grabbing his head by the hair and pulling it painfully backward. “Forget the Maker. You’ll never see his face. I spit on you, instead—for everything you’ve done, for every life you’ve ruined, for every moment my family wasted in friendship on yours.” She suited the action to the words, watching the horror and disgust in his face as her spit trickled into his eye, and then she snapped his neck, wishing only that it could have taken longer and he could have suffered more.

She step back, nearly stumbling, staring down at the dead face of her father’s dearest friend. Una had expected to feel … something, but there was nothing. Her mind was a blank.


	57. Prisoners

"My dear, I believe there are more cells in the next room," Wynne said gently, touching her arm.

"What? Cells?" Una blinked, trying to clear her head, to remember where she was and why. "Yes. Let's clear those out." She took a step and her knees gave way beneath her. Zev was immediately at her side, taking her arm and holding her up.

"Breathe, cara. Let the emotions settle until you are yourself again."

Oghren nodded, his face unusually sympathetic. "Felt the same after Branka. Took all the oomph out of me once it was over."

Una nodded, closing her eyes until the dizziness passed. She straightened, tugging her arm away from Zev. "I'm okay," she said. "Just … want to get this finished." She stepped over the body on the ground, resisting the urge to spit on it, an unladylike action her mother would never have approved of.

"Hey! HEYYYY!" A loud voice was coming from one of the cells.

"I think I know that man," she said softly. "Let's save him for last." If he was Vaughan Kendalls, she didn't want to deal with him until she had felt stronger.

"As you say." Zev was watching her with concern, and she shook her head at him impatiently, turning to a cell where a man who wore only a loincloth crouched, looking up at them beneath the overgrown locks of his shaggy hair.

"Maker have mercy on me … your faithful servant. Grant me … grant me a place … at your side," he was whispering in a hoarse and broken voice, faltering as he spoke as though the words were unfamiliar to him. The voice was Fereldan, though, a Bannorn accent, educated and polished. "Grant me the cleansing flames. Andraste … Bride of the … of the Maker, have mercy on me. Please, mercy."

"Who are you?" Una asked, gripping one of the bars of his cell.

At her voice, he leaped backward, then crept cautiously back into the light. "Alfstanna? Alfstanna, is that you, little sister?" he asked, with an almost pathetic eagerness.

The name was familiar to Una, and she tried to place it. Where had she heard that name before?

"No," the man said sadly in his broken voice. "I don't know you. Do I? Are you—are you real?"

"Soddin' right we are," Oghren said.

Una moved closer to the bars. "Are you all right?"

"Alfstanna?" he asked again, brightening momentarily until he remembered that Una wasn't his sister. "I ... don't know. Where is my sister? Have you seen her?"

"Wait, I know you," Una said, suddenly remembering where she'd heard the name. "I've seen you before, at parties. Your sister is Bann Alfstanna of the Waking Sea, and that would make you …"

"Irminric. Knight-Lieutenant of the Denerim Chantry." There was an almost automatic pride in the words as Irminric wrapped himself in the last shreds of his identity, but it dropped away as fear suddenly overtook him and he shrank away from the bars again. "You—you aren't one of the Teyrn's men, are you?"

"No. Definitely not."

He nodded sadly. "I failed, you know. I failed in my duties, Maker forgive me, and there's no telling what he's done now."

"What are you talking about?"

"The …" Irminric moved closer to the bars, his voice dropping. "The maleficar. He had turned blood magic on Templars and Circle mages to escape the Tower."

"Jowan," Wynne whispered softly, with pain.

"I cornered him at Redcliffe," Irminric went on. His eyes were bright with the memory, and Una thought she could imagine what he had looked like before his imprisonment.

She wondered briefly what the Knight-Lieutenant of Denerim had been doing in Redcliffe. It was the other side of the country, for the Maker's sake! Maybe Irminric had been sent there for other reasons, to get him out of the way? There was no way of finding out from him, though.

Irminric's face fell. "The teyrn's men took him from me, and they brought me here."

Loghain. Setting Jowan free to poison Eamon, imprisoning a Knight-Lieutenant of the Chantry with Howe's willing collusion. Throwing the battle of Ostagar for reasons still unknown, usurping his own daughter's throne. What more? What other sickening revelations awaited her? Una closed her eyes, wishing to be somewhere far away from here, somewhere safe and clean and warm.

But Irminric was still talking, blaming himself for Loghain's actions, and Una's heart went out to him, broken and anguished as he was. "That's not your fault," she said, although she didn't expect her words to get through to him.

"I should have been more careful, Andraste forgive him," he whispered, getting to his knees in the filthy cell. "I—" Suddenly he broke off, looking up at Una with a startling clarity in his eyes. "You are real, aren't you? My dreams are so strange now." He got up again, his hands gripping the bars of the cell. "Please, if you're not a dream, help me."

"What do you want me to do?"

He nodded at her response. His face twisted, as though something hurt him, then cleared again. Twisting a heavy signet ring off his finger, he held it out to Una through the bars. "Please, give this to my sister, Alfstanna. Tell her … tell her I'm sorry. Please." He let go of the bars and retreated into his cell, his voice cracking again. "Ask her to pray for me." There was a silence, and then he began babbling again, the moment of sanity gone.

"We should do something," Wynne said softly.

"Yes." Una stared at the ring, wondering how it was that Howe had never taken it from Irminric. Didn't want to be caught with the signet ring of House Eremon, probably. Easier to let the ring stay on the rotted hand, keeping the owner barely alive in a place where no one was likely to find him. She wanted to go back to Howe's body and kick the sick bastard in the face.

"Una?" Wynne asked.

"I'm all right. I wish I could say the same for him."

"What do we do with the blighter?" Oghren asked.

"We cannot take him from that cell against his will," Zev said, in a voice that made it very clear that he knew what he was talking about.

"No, you're right, but we can't leave him there, either."

"Do you know his sister? We should go to her, quickly."

"She should be in town for the Landsmeet. Let's find her as soon as we're finished here." It would mean putting off going back to Eamon's house and dealing with Riordan before Alistair could fall under the spell of his Warden knowledge, and putting off the moment when she could collapse in Alistair's arms and cry and sleep and hold onto him for whatever security she could find in the insanity of the world, but Irminric had been through enough. He deserved the comforting embrace of someone who loved him more than she did.

"HEYYYY!" came an extremely aggrieved shout from the next cell, and Una groaned. There was no doubt about the voice—it was Vaughan Kendalls, and she would have to deal with him. Briefly she entertained the idea of simply walking off and leaving him there to be someone else's headache, but he was the Arl of Denerim now, after all, and his influence in the Landsmeet would be invaluable. That assumed he could be trusted, naturally, but being locked in a dungeon by his father's usurper couldn't have left him with any very kindly feelings toward Loghain.

"Hello, Vaughan," she said, stepping in front of his cell.

His eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "Una? Una Cousland? I— we all thought you were dead."

"She takes a great deal of killing," Zev said, softly and with affection.

Vaughan's gaze flicked toward Zev and away with a thinly disguised sneer. "Where is that little weasel, Arl Howe?" he asked Una. "I'm going to flay him alive for putting me in here. I'm the Arl of Denerim, by the Maker!"

"He's dead," Una said flatly.

"Warden here killed him," Oghren chortled. "Bang! Crack! Popped his neck like a deepstalker's."

Vaughan frowned, studying Oghren as though he was a bug. "Surely you are imagining things. Lady Cousland is—" He looked Una over, and his tone became pained. "A lady, however little she looks like one."

"Not anymore. I'm a Grey Warden now. What are you doing in here?"

"What do you think? Cooling my heels while Howe steals my Arling! After all our troops were lost at Ostagar, Howe came here with his men to reinforce the garrison—or so he said. As soon as I let him into the palace, he threw me in here."

"You didn't know a secret way out? I find that hard to believe." These dungeons clearly were older than Vaughan, and they were just the kind of place Una imagined him playing in as a young boy.

"Howe sealed it up," he said sulkily.

"What reason did he give for your disappearance?"

"'One more victim of the elven uprising'," Vaughan quoted bitterly.

"The elves rebelled? Why?"

"You need to ask, my Warden?" Zev said.

Vaughan frowned sourly. "You know how elves are. Every now and again they start to think they're people, and you have to put them back in their proper place."

Una would have liked to see him stranded in the Brecilian Forest at the mercy of the Dalish, although she suspected even that wouldn't change his tune. Distasteful as she found his opinions on this topic—and most others, she remembered—that didn't change the fact that he was still the rightful Arl of Denerim.

"Vaughan."

"What?"

"They've called a Landsmeet. As your father's heir, you have a voice in the assembly. You could be a powerful speaker for whichever faction you choose to support."

"And you want my vote."

"And you want out of this dungeon."

They stared at each other.

"You say Howe is dead?"

"Oh, very."

Vaughan nodded. "You have my vote."

"Very well." Una nodded to Wynne, who looked doubtful as she leaned in to freeze the lock, which then broke under a blow from Una's hammer.

"Mages, too, along with elves and dwarves? Quite the band of miscreants you've gathered."

"Powerful, too. And with good memories. Zev here used to be an Antivan Crow." Una saw that Vaughan knew the Crows very well—no doubt he'd been party to their hiring once or twice. "He's got no love for people who mistreat elves … or who break their word to old friends. And he's very good at being where you don't expect him to be, if you follow my meaning."

Vaughan's gaze settled on Zev directly for the first time, and Zev smiled at him. The elf was all Crow for the moment, dangerous, serious, and not to be trifled with. "I get you," Vaughan muttered.

"Good. You're free to go."

"I'll, uh … see you at the Landsmeet." Vaughan hurried by them, flinching when Zev casually laid a hand on his dagger hilt just as Vaughan passed him, and then Vaughan was gone, presumably heading upstairs to begin taking back his arling.

"You seem unconcerned by his attitudes," Zev said.

"Vaughan's not a fan of elves. He mistreats them. I know that. I also know he isn't the only member of the Landsmeet of whom that's true." Una sighed. "If I refused to treat with anyone whose personal habits or attitudes I don't like, I'd never get anywhere and we might as well let the Archdemon walk all over Ferelden. Unpleasant as the nobility can be, unpleasant as the people's prejudices might be, my job today is getting aid against the Blight. Tomorrow it might be standing up for the rights of the elves, or the mages … but we're not there yet, and not likely to be for some time yet to come." She looked Zev in the eye. "Can you live with that?"

He nodded, although he didn't look happy about it. Frankly, Una was a bit surprised; she'd never thought of Zev as a particular champion for the rights of elves. He seemed mostly fairly uninterested in his own people. Still, she thought, following as Oghren and Wynne led the way back to the upper levels, blood will tell. No doubt Zev occasionally felt the tug of his ancestors when he witnessed the evils done to other elves, and all things considered, Una respected him for still being able to have those feelings after the job the Crows had done on him in his training.


	58. Trap

As they emerged from the basement dungeons, doors opened along the hall and what seemed like an entire regiment of guards poured out, shouting “You don’t belong here.” They had mabari, too, which were always difficult to deal with. Not only did Una hate having to kill one of those fine creatures, mabari had a tendency to leap on a person and knock them to the ground and then worry at their throats and arms until death seemed like the merciful option. Una’s instructions were always to take out the mabari first.

During the fray, Una kept glancing nervously over her shoulder, expecting reinforcements at any moment. If the rest of the castle were put on alert, they would never get back to Anora, much less get the queen to safety. She felt tremendous pressure to finish the current fight as fast as they could. Fortunately, Oghren was in screaming berserk form, taking out two men at a time with mighty sweeps of his hammer, and Zev was feeling unsettled from the interview with Vaughan and taking it out on his opponents, his daggers flashing from the shadows faster than Una would have imagined possible.

A mabari tried to drag Oghren down, but the dwarf’s bulk and proximity to the ground made him less vulnerable than most to that tactic, and he all but threw the dog into a guard who was about to attack Wynne.

At last, they had taken them all out. Una spared a glance at the pile of bodies, wishing it hadn’t come to this—wishing even more that she wasn’t forced to leave them here. It was doubtful anyone was coming to clean up in here for a long time. She made a mental note to have someone come back to do the clean-up, adding it to the stack of other mental notes she had. It had been an exhausting day already, and she hadn’t even gotten the queen to safety yet.

The door to the room where the queen was being held was ajar, and Una knocked softly at it. “Your Highness?”

“I’m here. I didn’t want to chance an escape on my own.” Anora appeared behind the door dressed in a full guard’s uniform, minus the helmet, which she held under her arm. “Is it safe?”

“Safer than it was,” Una said cautiously. ‘Safe’ was a word she rarely felt comfortable tossing around. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“Let’s put it this way—there are two types of people in this house, people who are loyal to my father and people who are loyal to me. If Howe’s—and therefore my father’s—people see me, I’m likely to be killed. If my people see me, they’ll want to escort me to the palace for my own safety, and then my father is likely to have me killed.”

It sounded a bit paranoid and self-important to Una, but then, that was Anora to a T. “If you say so, Your Majesty. Whatever you’re dressed in, I’d like to get out of here as quickly as possible.”

“On that, we are in complete agreement.” Anora looked nervous, and Una tried to tell herself that the queen had every reason to be, and not to see a treacherous pitfall around every corner.

She had just about convinced herself that they were safe when they came into the main hall and found Cauthrien there, with about two dozen soldiers arrayed behind her, as well as, Una noticed, a couple of Circle mages and their Templars. This was a well-planned ambush, then, guaranteed to take out anything short of an army.

Instinctively, she moved half a step to her left to cover what she knew would be Zev’s first move—to fade into the shadows. If Cauthrien and her people hadn’t noticed him, he could use Una’s greater height to cover a retreat back into the rest of the castle and get out the way they had come, to get help.

“Wardens!” Cauthrien announced, then caught herself, looking foolish as she frowned at the assembled company.

“Warden, singular, I think you mean,” Una said.

Cauthrien glared at her. “In the name of the Regent, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Rendon Howe and his men at arms. Surrender, and you may be shown mercy.”

It was on the tip of Una’s tongue to issue a defiance, but she stopped herself. Her little group here could never take on Cauthrien’s entire force, and there was Queen Anora to consider. Thus far she had kept silence—if there was collusion between her and Cauthrien, Una couldn’t see it. Additionally, while Howe’s end was nothing more than what he’d had coming, and administered by the only person with the right to his life, as far as Una was concerned, his men were another story. Perhaps she had an obligation to their families to surrender and to stand trial. Here, in front of witnesses, Cauthrien could hardly kill her. What would happen later was something Una would worry about once she was sure the queen was safe. “I will stand down,” she said, to the evident consternation of everyone she could see.

“By the sodding Stone, girl, what are you thinkin’?” Oghren roared. “We got your back!”

She shook her head. “Killing them would only endanger us, and reinforce all Loghain’s lies about me. I have no shame for what I’ve done today—Rendon Howe’s crimes against this country have been avenged. I am prepared to stand trial.”

Cauthrien raised her eyebrows. “You show a surprising amount of restraint, Warden.” That Una’s restraint was also a disappointment was fairly evident. “I am glad this ended peacefully.” She barked at a group of soldiers to her right, “Take the Warden; Loghain doesn’t care about the rest.”

Una tried not to let her relief show. She had hoped Cauthrien would see it that way, but wouldn’t have dared mention it, lest she imperil her friends unnecessarily. She allowed herself a quick glance backward to see that Anora had never raised her helm; that Wynne was watching her with patient understanding; that Oghren had his blade raised in fruitless frustration; and that Zev, bless him, was nowhere to be found. Now, if he could only keep Alistair from doing something they would all regret later, perhaps she could find a way out of this.

It was her last thought before something struck the back of her head, and blackness closed around her.


	59. Duty

Alistair was idly flipping pages in a book he'd found in Arl Eamon's library, something about the history of the Bannorn, but he couldn't concentrate. Every sense was strained, listening for the sound of Una and the others returning from Howe's. He wasn't sure who he was most upset with, Una or himself, for letting her talk him into remaining here. So what if it was a trap? If she was going to face down Howe, she needed him there at her side.

He got up, leaving the book on the table, and began pacing the library for the twentieth time. Morrigan, cross-legged in the corner, glanced at him in irritation.

"Must you make such a production of every movement? She survived without you for many years, no doubt one afternoon will not kill her."

Happy to have a distraction as satisfying as yelling at Morrigan, Alistair turned to the witch. "Won't kill her, is that what you said? She's facing the man who slaughtered her entire family!"

"Yes, which is what she has said many times she wanted to do. She is more than capable of doing it without you." Humor glinted in Morrigan's eyes. "Or is that what you fear, that she can manage, and do so quite capably, without you? That perhaps there is no real reason for her to saddle herself with a great foolish lummox such as yourself?"

She was trying to bait him, he reminded himself. She was trying to make him angry. Holding on to his temper with both hands, he forced himself to speak quietly. "I want to be there to support her. I know she can do it on her own, but if it had been my choice, I would have gone to help her however I could. I know the very concept of being helpful, or being concerned about someone else, is foreign to you, so I won't bother trying to explain it."

Alistair turned his back on the witch, opting for another attempt to leaf through the book instead of more pacing, which would bring him back near her corner again. As he was trying to focus on the words, he heard a soft sound, and looked up to see Zevran standing in front of him.

"Do you have to sneak up on people like that? Maker!" Then he saw the look on the elf's face. "What happened? Where is she?"

Morrigan was on her feet, too, looking at Zevran with an expression that bore a suspicious resemblance to concern.

"The Grey Warden has been captured by the dark-haired warrior who stands at the right hand of the Regent," Zevran said rapidly, his accent thickened by emotion. "I did not see where she was taken, as I left as soon as I saw what was going to occur."

"You mean you just abandoned her there, in the middle of a fight with Ser Cauthrien?"

Zevran regarded him coldly. "I mean that Una surrendered herself rather than fight; we had the Queen with us, and she chose to allow the Queen's identity to remain concealed rather than risk having her injured in a battle. It would have been quite the scrap, too," he mused. "There were a great many men on Cauthrien's side, and we were wearied from our trip through Arl Howe's dungeons."

Alistair was on his feet, his heart pounding. "Did Cauthrien accept her surrender? Where are the others?"

"I did not stay to see what transpired. I knew that Una would need the assistance of the entire team, and I came here as quickly as I could."

"Well, we need to go find her!"

"I am perfectly in agreement with you. Where would you suggest we look?"

Alistair had no idea, and that Zevran knew he had no idea was clear from the superior look on the elf's face.

"In that case, I will find Leliana and the Arl and hope that one of them has a greater knowledge of Denerim's prisons than you do, my friend." With a mocking bow, Zevran left the room, but Alistair hurried after him.

As they reached the first floor, the door opened, and Wynne came in, followed by Oghren and a person in the armor of the Arl of Denerim. She took her helm off, patting her blonde braids to be sure they were in place, then looked around her. "Where is Arl Eamon Guerrin?" she asked, her voice precise and very cold.

"We were just looking for him," Alistair said. "Who are you?"

"Anora, Queen of Ferelden."

His eyebrows flew up. This was the queen? Cailan's wife? She seemed so … young, so pretty. "Your Majesty," he stammered. "I am Alistair, Grey Warden of Ferelden." He watched her face when he gave his name, and wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed when she didn't seem familiar with it. Maybe Cailan had never told her he had a half-brother. Maybe Cailan had never known. Either way, he was of no use to her other than in his capacity as Grey Warden, he told himself, firmly pushing aside any question of whether he would try to push her off her throne, or whether he should.

Anora nodded. "I was told there were two of you." Her blue eyes appraised him carefully, and Alistair had the impression that he hadn't come off that well.

"The other Grey Warden," Zevran interjected. "Where is she?"

"Ser Cauthrien took her to Fort Drakon." Clearly, Anora expected a greater reaction, so she said it again, with emphasis. "Fort Drakon. The most secure dungeon in the city; nay, the country." There was more than a hint of pride in her tone.

Alistair wasn't sure what he was supposed to say, so he settled on, "Huh." Not the most intelligent remark, but it didn't commit him to anything, either.

"Knocked the Warden in the head," Oghren growled. "Nearly went after 'er right then."

"She hit Una? After she surrendered?" Alistair didn't blame Oghren; even hearing about it second-hand, he was seeing red. He looked at Anora. "Why?"

Her Majesty shrugged. "To be certain she wouldn't try to escape, I imagine." She looked supremely unconcerned, and Alistair decided he didn't like her at all.

"Let's go, then," he said to the others, and was startled when all three formed a line in front of him.

"Nope," Oghren said succinctly.

"I'm going to get her out of there! You can't mean to just sit there and let her rot inside a prison cell. Anyone remember the Blight? The Archdemon? Those ring a bell? We need her!" Alistair tried to combat the rising panic inside him, thinking of her helpless in some dungeon, alone and frightened and no doubt remembering what had happened to her parents, and he thought he would burst if he didn't do something.

"We know we need her," Wynne said with a patience that if anything further maddened him. "But you are not going."

"Of course I am!"

"The last thing she wants is for you to run into the prison and get yourself caught as well. Think, man!" Zevran snapped. "Do not be an impulsive fool. Do you not see that this is what they want? Both of you, trapped together? Because then they can blame the Grey Wardens for everything and there is no one to say anything against them."

"He is right." Leliana appeared from the shadows, her face partially obscured by her hood. "Una did not take you into Arl Howe's because she thought it too dangerous for the two of you to be there together, in case it was a trap. As we see, she was absolutely right. This, too, is no doubt a trap—they dangle her before you and assume that you will go in after her, and then they will, as Zevran says, have both of you." She patted Alistair on the arm. "You need not worry; we will get her out. I have … experience in such things. You, on the other hand, must stay here and entertain our charming queen." A very faint edge had crept into her voice, and Alistair thought he understood—he was to keep the queen occupied so that she couldn't give anyone any warnings.

He didn't like it, but he knew better than to argue—when the rest of the group all agreed on something, they were generally right.

Leliana nodded at him in approval. "Zevran, you and I and Wynne will go to Fort Drakon and see what we can accomplish."

"You know where it is?" the elf asked her.

"I have some familiarity with it, yes." She turned to Oghren. "Keep him here."

Oghren grinned widely at Alistair. "My soddin' pleasure, Red."

A wet nose appeared, snuffling at Leliana's hand and prodding her meaningfully. She looked down at the dog doutfully. "I believe you would attract a great deal of attention, Grenli."

The mabari woofed insistently, and Leliana frowned thoughtfully down at him.

"I suppose you are correct—a mabari is a formidable foe, after all, and you have, indeed, earned the right. Very well. You may accompany us."

Grenli sat back, giving another woof, this one sounding vindicated.

Struggling to keep his fear, and his jealousy, under control, Alistair snapped, "Isn't that dandy. Now, will you all just go already?"

Leliana patted him on the arm. "Patience. We will find her."

And they departed, leaving Alistair to stare helplessly at Queen Anora, who seemed mostly annoyed that no one was making a fuss over her. Well, Alistair wouldn't, either, he told himself.

Then he thought of Una, and what she would do if she were here, and he sighed and said, "So, Your Highness, um … Can I get you something to eat?"

He took her arm and led her to the dining room, trying to cover his nearly overwhelming anxiety with his limited stock of small talk.


	60. Determined

Una awoke abruptly, her head pounding. Slowly she took stock of her situation—she was lying on the stone floor of a cell, clad only in her smallclothes and breastband. Putting a hand to her head, she sat up, her eyes meeting the avid gaze of a very unwashed man in the next cell over.

“You look like you been dragged through ten kinds of crap, friend,” he said, and she looked down at herself. She was covered in bruises and cuts and scrapes. Most of those were from the fights in Howe’s estate, but she thought a couple looked fresher and must have been picked up on the way to this cell. “What’d you do?” the other prisoner asked.

Clearing her throat, Una said, “I killed Rendon Howe.”

The prisoner did a double-take, looking her over again. Una held still for the scrutiny, keeping her eyes steady on his, and eventually he nodded, as though deciding to take her word for it. “Who calls that a crime, anyway?” he said with a dark laugh. “More like a public service. Still, they’ll hang you for it.”

At that, Una made a supreme effort and got to her feet, her muscles screaming in protest. “Not a chance. I’m getting out of here.”

Her fellow prisoner offered her a sardonic grin. “Good luck with that. I’ll just be over here waiting for the Maker to walk in and sing us a sea chantey—seems the more likely event.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Una said absently, beginning a study of the cell. It seemed solidly built—no loose bars, no crumbling mortar, no obvious flaws in design or build that would allow her to squeeze through anywhere. She was tall, but she was narrowly built, and she had a try at sliding through the bars, but she wasn’t quite that narrow.

The prisoner in the next cell watched her with amusement. “You know you’re not accomplishing anything but giving me a nice show, right?” He eyed her good-humoredly.

Una shrugged. “Has to be done. Anything’s better than just sitting here.”

“I thought that, too, when I first got here. You’ll learn,” he said.

She shut his skepticism out and continued her survey of the bars. After a little while, she heard footsteps approaching, footsteps and a loud jingling of keys. Shortly afterward, the jailer came around the corner. As she’d imagined, he was jingling the keys on purpose, loudly and with a malicious grin on his face. His look as he eyed her up and down was significantly less good-humored than her fellow prisoner’s, and it made Una want to cover up and to hit him, both at the same time.

There was nothing to cover herself up with … but she could definitely fit her arm through the bars. She called him over, making an effort to sound plaintive and weak.

“If you’re not bleeding,” the jailer said, “I don’t care.” But he strolled over anyway, if only to taunt her with the keys just out of her reach.

As soon as he came close enough that she was sure she could hit him, Una did just that, balling up her fist and shooting it abruptly between two bars, catching the jailer just under the chin. She was particularly proud of that punch and very sad that Alistair wasn’t there to see it.

The jailer’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell over. Una grabbed him by the arm and hauled him over the stones toward her until she could reach the keys hanging from his belt. Slipping them off, she hurried to the lock of her cell, trying each key in turn as fast as she could until she found the one that fit the lock.

“Here.” She handed the ring of keys to her fellow prisoner.

“Thanks.”

“Do you want me to wait for you?”

He shook his head. “I’m good.” Then, as Una started to turn away from him, he called her back. “Hey, who are you, anyway?”

“I’m a Grey Warden.”

“Have to say, meeting you makes me feel a sight better about the Blight. You gonna kill that Archdemon I keep hearing about?”

Una grinned. “If I ever get out of here.”

“Well, then, don’t stand here talking to me!”

She waved at him, moving toward the door. There were no sounds, no sign of anyone around other than the two of them and the unconscious guard. Peering curiously into a chest near the door, Una spied her armor, and her maul. Delighted, she put it all back on. As always, the deep blue Warden Commander armor made her feel powerful and confident—just what she needed for a jailbreak, she told herself.

Through the next door, a guard and two mabari attacked her, and she took them out with gusto, glad to see that being imprisoned hadn’t impaired her combat skills. Probably had provided a nice rest, she thought with some amusement. Making her way through the prison as quietly as she could in the heavy armor, she found an armory, and briefly debated exchanging her own armor for a guardsman’s kit—but she wasn’t about to leave her beautiful armor behind, and she couldn’t carry it with her, and she was damned if she was going to pretend, anyway. They wanted her in prison, they could take the consequences.

Of course, what she was going to do when she ran into a group of guards too large for her to fight, she didn’t know, but she’d take that when it came … and hope that somewhere along the way some of the others would come for her.

In the palace dining room, Alistair watched Anora dig into the food that had been prepared for her. For once, he wasn’t tempted to join her. Grey Warden appetite or no, he was too sick over Una being in prison, alone and presumably helpless, to think of eating.

If he wasn’t going to eat, and he wasn’t going to be allowed to join the rescue party, and since Oghren and Morrigan had both disappeared and left him alone with Queen Anora, he might as well try to be friendly. Maybe he’d learn some things.

Or maybe, he thought gloomily, he’d stick his foot in his mouth and cause a national incident. That one seemed more likely.

"So ... Your Majesty. Have you ... um ... had enough to eat?"

"Sufficient, yes. Thank you. Overeating is a sign of self-indulgence; it is not seemly."

'Not seemly' described Alistair to a T. He looked at her, the monarch Una was planning to depose, and then at himself, the upstart she was intending to put on the throne in Anora's place, and the contrast was unmistakable. Even in her borrowed guard's uniform, Anora was every inch the lady.

Dwelling on a future that had yet to come to pass wasn't going to help, either, especially since the architect of that future was currently in a dungeon. At least, Alistair hoped she was in a dungeon, because the alternative was—unthinkable.

Anora was sipping her tea, gingerly, because it was steaming hot, and not looking at him at all. She didn't seem to care whether they spoke to one another or not, but Alistair was constitutionally incapable of sitting in silence at the best of times, which this emphatically was not.

“Tell me some of the challenges you and Cailan were facing before the Blight,” he heard himself say. “Are there any plans you still hope to accomplish?”

Anora looked at him in surprise, her eyebrows flying up. Well, she couldn't be more surprised than he was, but he found himself genuinely interested. He had seen pretty much all of Ferelden in this past year, maybe he would have something new to tell her.

“It is difficult to say. Cailan—he had a taste for martial glory, and spent much time and effort in building the armies. I was very much interested in founding a proper Fereldan university. I believe we have talented educators, and to truly take our proper place amongst the countries of Thedas will require us to be able to educate the youth of other countries, the way our youth are sent now to the Free Marches or Orlais or Nevarra.”

“Would you have it specialize in anything? We certainly seem to be skilled in agriculture, and the growing dwarven population here would have a thing or two to teach about building. We might even convince one or two of the Dalish clans to lend us a visiting professor in history.”

“Yes. Yes, that's a very good idea. I would not have considered approaching the Dalish, but they are part of Ferelden, after all. Did you say you had encountered a group of them?”

Alistair launched into a rather abridged version of that story, and shortly thereafter they moved into the library to look at maps.


	61. Proud

Una's question was answered rather sooner than she had expected, because the next door she opened led into a large room filled with weaponry, in which soldiers were milling around aimlessly. She froze on the doorstep—she had no skills in sneaking, and the last thing she wanted to do was kill a room full of innocent Fereldan soldiers. She would need them later against the Archdemon, among other reasons.

Fortunately, she could see familiar shadows moving along the walls, and soldiers dropping. They would have headaches later, but no permanent damage. At last, Leliana stood in front of her. “Come on. Someone is very impatient to see you.”

“You didn't bring Alistair, did you? This was all so easy, I think Cauthrien and Anora set it up to trap the Grey Wardens.”

“Yes, we think so, too. But that's not who I meant.”

In the deserted antechamber, a very large, happy mabari waited, standing up on his hind legs to reach as close to her face as he could, licking her happily. “Gren! I'm sorry I left you behind, boy. Won't happen again.”

He yipped, looking satisfied.

“We have left Alistair looking after Anora. No doubt he will appreciate being let off the hook.” Zev grinned.

“You're probably right.” Una looked back on Fort Drakon with revulsion. While she was leaving largely unscathed, there was no question in her mind what could have happened there. She had a score to settle with Anora, she promised herself.

Arl Eamon met her in the hallway. “My dear Warden,” he said, “I am so glad to see you well. We were tremendously concerned.” He looked nervously over his shoulder. “The queen is still here. I have left Alistair with her, and he seems to be holding his own.”

“Does he?” Leliana smiled. “I thought he might.”

“Well, good.” Una was relieved that he had done the sensible thing and stayed behind with Anora. Maybe some good could come out of all of this. “Where are they?”

“You will find them down the hall in the library.”

Una nodded, heading that direction. As she came closer, she could hear the sounds of a lively conversation, and of their own volition her feet slowed.

“So you would not build the university in Denerim? But isn't that where most visitors would feel most comfortable?”

“Possibly, but it depends on what you want a university for. Is it just to attract nobles from other countries, or do we want to educate our own people? I'd try for the second, and so would put it in the Bannorn, where it's more centrally located.”

Anora seemed to be considering this. “That's a fair point,” she said, “but if it's going to pay for itself, it really needs to be in our capitol city and draw on those nobles. Perhaps a branch elsewhere?”

Una came around the corner and found them both bent over a map, their heads very close together. Anora was still wearing the guard's uniform, but it was clean and proper, her hair done neatly. Meanwhile, Una's armor was covered in the detritus of battle, her hair filthy, and she was bleeding from at least two untreated cuts.

Alistair looked up and saw her, his face lighting immediately with happiness, which made Una feel a little better; then his look changed to concern as he looked her over, which no longer helped. “You're back! Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.” She looked at Anora. “I see you made it here safely, Your Majesty. I'm so glad.” There was an edge to her tone that didn't read as “glad” at all, but Una considered it restrained that she wasn't punching the traitorous queen in the face.

“Grey Warden.” She also looked Una over, but there was none of Alistair's sweet concern in her look. “You appear to need a bath. At least.”

“Yes, I would like one, but there are things to do first. Being a Grey Warden is about going out and getting things done, rather than sitting in a room clean and safe crying for help.”

“Una, maybe you should ...” Alistair began, wincing at the sharpness in her tone.

“No, it's fair.” Anora nodded. “There are things some people are good at, and things others are. While I sat at my lessons, Una, I seem to recall you running wild in the fields hitting things. Perhaps it is no surprise that we find ourselves here, coming at the current problem from two such different directions.”

“Eloquently put as always, Anora.”

They looked at one another, measuring, judging. Anora was the elder by several years, but they had grown up in the same circles—Una had tagged after Anora and Fergus and Cailan many a time when they were children. “Alistair,” she said quietly, “would you mind letting Anora and I speak alone? I'm sure we have a great deal to catch up on.”

“Of course.” He stood up, bowing to the queen. “Your Majesty. Una, I will see you later?”

“Yes.” She smiled at him, wanting nothing more than to see him now, to go away into a room with him and be held while she tried to work through all the events of the day. But a Grey Warden's work was never done, it seemed, and it was her task to treat with Ferelden's queen.

“Is Alistair not the senior Warden? Should I not be having this discussion with him?”

“I am in charge here. More to the point, I am the one who was betrayed and sent to prison today in an attempt to break you out of Howe's estate. So I'm the one you're going to need to talk to.”

“Very well. You should understand the situation here in Denerim. My father is in the grips of a paranoia that has caused him to ... He is not the same person he once was. He has all but usurped my throne. I believe he sees me—his own daughter—as a threat.”

Whatever else may or may not have been true about Anora's actions of the day, Una could tell this was. She appeared terrified of her father.

“If he discovers that I am gone from Howe's estate, that Howe is dead,” Anora continued, “he may claim that I have been mind-controlled by the Grey Wardens, whom he paints as dangerous murderers. So we have very little time to waste before the Landsmeet assembles—we must put together as solid a support as possible.”

Una started to speak, to point out Alistair's claim to the throne, but her father's voice whispered in her ear. _Do not burn an alliance by a foolishly spoken word, pup. Keep your own counsel as long as you can_. Instead she said, “An excellent idea, Your Majesty. I hope Arl Eamon has offered you sanctuary here in his home?”

“Yes.” Anora looked around nervously. “I hope his retainers are sufficient to protect me.”

“I'll assign a few of my own people to that detail, as well. They are more than capable of handling anyone your father might send.” That one of them had originally been sent by Anora's father amused Una greatly. “Tomorrow, I will see about talking with some of the nobles and attempting to use some of the knowledge I gained in Howe's dungeons to sway their opinions in our direction. Is there anything else you suggest I look into as I consolidate support?”

“Were I you, I would look into the alienage. I don't know what is happening there, but something strange is going on.” Anora stood. “I find I am most weary—it has been a long day.”

She'd had a long day? But Una let the comment pass. “Rest well, Your Majesty.”

Making her way through the corridors to the room she shared with Alistair, Una couldn't help thinking how much she would enjoy dethroning that woman.

Bless his thoughtful heart, he was waiting in their room with a tub full of steaming hot water. “Oh, good, there you are. I was afraid the water would get cold.”

“Alistair!” She hurried into his arms, her face against his shoulder. The familiar warmth of him, the smell of him, the feeling that for the first time today she was safe, filled her, and she wept against his shoulder.

“All right, love, all right,” he said, holding her fiercely against him. “I wish I had been there to take some of that burden for you.”

“I do, too. I mean, I'm glad you weren't, but ... Anora clearly expected you, not me, as did Cauthrien. I'm afraid of what they might have done if we'd both been there, or if you had come after me in Fort Drakon.”

“And ... Howe?”

“He's dead,” she said flatly. “Maybe now my family's ghosts can rest.”

Alistair nodded. “Come on, love, let's get you into that bath.” He helped her out of the armor and into the bath, and when she was finished bathing, he took her to bed, his hands and mouth soothing and arousing her so slowly, so gently, until she could think of nothing but her need for him.

Hours later, she woke next to him, carefully moving the heavy arm that lay across her off so she could slip out of bed, and she went to her desk.

_Dearest Mother and Father,  
It is done. Howe lies dead in a pool of his own blood, fitting recompense for what he did to our family, and his web of lies and deceit and murder will be unraveled. I will see to that.  
How desperately I wish you were both here to share in this victory with me, and Oren and Oriana and Fergus. I feel alone today in a way I haven't in many months. My team are still with me, and they care for me like family, as Alistair does, but it isn't the same.  
And now the work truly begins. I must get support from the nobles—support for Alistair and myself, while at the same time maintaining the fiction for Anora that we will support her. It will not be easy, and certainly not as straight-forward as fighting darkspawn, but I will do this for you.  
I don't say as much to Alistair, but it makes me very happy to think that I will be Queen of Ferelden, and your grandchild, if we are able to create one, will take the throne in turn. It is what you deserve, and the least I can do, along with Howe's death, for you. I would give all of it to have you back again.  
All my love,  
Una_

She carried the page to the fireplace and laid it on the coals, watching the paper smoke and curl and finally burst into flame. Sitting back on her heels, she closed her eyes, listening.

_I knew you could do it, pup_ , her father's voice said exultantly. _We are so proud of you_. And then her mother, viciously, _I hope you stepped on his face_. Her father's voice chuckled indulgently, the way he always had when reminded of his wife's more warrior-like qualities. Then he continued, _Pup, we will be proud of all you have accomplished whether you take the throne or not. If you and Alistair want to reign over Ferelden, we will be pleased for you. If you do not, and you choose to remain Grey Wardens, we will be equally so_. Her mother cut in, _Speak for yourself, Bryce. Una, knock that man and his child out of Ferelden's leadership and take care of our people. There is no one I would trust more, young as you are. We love you very much._

She couldn't help smiling at them. They were so predictable. Opening her eyes again, she got up and climbed back into bed. Alistair stirred sleepily, putting his arms around her and pulling her close against him. “Are they proud of you?”

Una nodded. “Yes.”

“Of course they are. I am, too.” His arms tightened around her, then loosened as he slid back into sleep. Una lay there, enjoying the feeling of his body against her and the warmth under the covers until she, too, drifted back to sleep.


	62. Nobles

The next day they prepared to go meet the nobles gathered for the Landsmeet, which was coming up all too rapidly. Leaving Oghren, Zev, and Grenli to keep an eye on Anora—as much to keep her at Eamon's as to keep her safe—Una and Alistair, with Leliana and Wynne, went out into the streets of Denerim.

Sergeant Kylon nodded cordially as they went by, and Una wished he had standing to speak in the Landsmeet. At least the people knew the Grey Wardens were trying to do the right thing. She wondered if there was a way to give the people more of a say in their own governance. Surely the people of Denerim wouldn't have chosen Rendon Howe as their Arl, and shouldn't they have had the right to speak up about it before the arling was given away as a prize?

Something to think about at a further date. For now, she had to make headway with the nobles before she could think about changes to the way the country was governed.

"Copper for your thoughts, love," Alistair said softly.

"Just thinking about the future." She smiled at him, but his answering smile was distracted.

"I wish I felt better about it. Are we sure we can't leave Anora on the throne?"

"Look what she's done with it," Una said. "For all her big words about what a great queen she is, look what's happened since Cailan died. If she's not strong enough to stand up to her own father in defense of her throne, what will she do if Ferelden is attacked from outside? She may understand politics, but she can't—or won't—fight. I think she's made that very clear."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. Still ..."

She stopped, reaching for his hand. "You can fight, Alistair. You know what the right thing to do is, when you trust yourself, and you do it, at whatever cost to yourself. And you're a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for. So you don't understand politics because it wasn't fed to you in your cradle. That's what you have me for."

He nodded, swallowing hard. "I know you're right, it's just ... to have been told my whole life that this was entirely out of my grasp, out of the question, and now to be told that it's my duty ... it's hard to change my point of view that fast."

"I know." She squeezed his hand. "And I wish I could give you more time ... but I've given you all the time we had."

Alistair pulled her close, clinging to her with all the desperation of a man who is afraid of what the future will bring, and Una held him, letting her own certainty comfort him. "All right," he said at last, letting go. "Let's see these nobles of yours."

They took Leliana and Wynne with them and went straight to the Gnawed Noble, where Una assumed the greatest concentration of the Bannorn would be located, all of them drinking their worries away. Hopefully it was early enough in the morning that they wouldn't have gotten too far into the process.

She had no idea how well-known it was that she had survived the slaughter of her family, or that she had become a Grey Warden, but both by virtue of her parents' popularity and because her height made her memorable, she imagined she would be easily recognized. So she capitalized on that; she let Alistair and the others precede her into the room, and then she closed the door of the inn firmly behind her, with a click she was fairly certain could be heard throughout the common room, and then she took her helmet off and shook her hair around her shoulders, and stood there waiting to be recognized.

It didn't take long. First the conversations closest to the door ceased, then the whispers rippled across the room, and then there was silence.

"You all knew my parents," Una said, and she didn't care that her voice cracked with grief. Let them all know what she had suffered—their fate would be the same if they didn't support her against the Blight. "My father loved Ferelden, and did his duty to her from his cradle. My mother was a gentle and caring woman who administrated the Teyrnir with the needs of her people uppermost in her mind. My brother was a fine warrior and poised to become an equally fine teyrn in the course of time; his wife an elegant and delicate woman who I never heard raise her voice in anger. My nephew Oren was five years old. Five years old," she said, louder and with emphasis. "Rendon Howe came into my family's home offering the hand of friendship, but with his other hand he held a dagger. He and his man took Highever Castle in the dead of night when all the men were gone—and for his treachery and his cowardice and his crimes against the women and children of our household he was given my family's teyrnir, as well as the arling of Denerim. The person responsible for applauding and rewarding his actions still holds the throne of Ferelden, having seized it from his daughter before King Cailan's body was seen to the Maker."

There was a murmur at that; mostly devout Andrastians, Fereldans didn't like a lack of attention to the respect due the dead. "Where is King Cailan's body?" someone asked.

"We took care of it. We returned to the battlefield at Ostagar, which was still overrun with darkspawn, and we eradicated the remaining darkspawn and cared for King Cailan."

"Thank you, Lady Cousland," murmured Bann Sighard, Oswyn's father. He stood up. "My son was imprisoned in Howe's dungeons; the things done to him, and for no reason we can understand, were horrific. Lady Cousland rescued him, and her healer took care of a number of his injuries. It is due to them that my boy can walk now. Whatever Highever needs, Dragon's Peak is with them to the last man."

"Thank you, Bann Sighard. How is Oswyn today?"

"Better, my lady, but it will be a long time before he is well again, I fear."

Wynne said, "I could come take another look at him today, in less fraught circumstances than yesterday. There may be more I can do."

"If you would, you would have our gratitude." Bann Sighard bowed to the mage.

"And the rest of you?" Una looked around the room at the assembled nobles; not even half the Bannorn, but a good start, certainly. "Make no mistake—my first goal is to eradicate the darkspawn and take out the Archdemon. I have no intention of dividing Ferelden. Rather, I seek to unify our forces against the true threat, the horde that threatens not only our lives but those of our children, and their children after them, if the darkspawn aren't defeated and their taint driven from our land. Teyrn Loghain, for his part, has chosen to concentrate on defeating the last two Grey Wardens in Ferelden. I ask you, what's more important to you?"

"The Grey Wardens turned on King Cailan!" shouted someone from the back, whose face Una couldn't see.

"Really? If the Grey Wardens had some sinister plan at Ostagar, why is it they're all dead? Alistair and I, as the newest recruits, were kept back. That is the only reason we survived. All the others are dead, fallen at King Cailan's side. Loghain, on the other hand, is alive. As are all his troops. So, I ask you, who seems to have turned on the king? Those who died fighting with him, or those who turned their backs and left the field?"

There were murmurs of unhappiness all around the room at that, but it was hard to tell whether they were unhappy with Loghain, or with Una for accusing him of abandoning the king.

"Look," Una said more quietly, "all I want is to bring us all together against the darkspawn. Let Loghain and Anora keep the throne until that's done and we have time to talk seriously about what's best for Ferelden going forward, if that's what the Landsmeet would prefer. Just ... let's please stop fighting each other and start fighting the darkspawn. That's what we ask of you today." She turned to Alistair, who had stood next to her through the whole of her speech, at attention, his bearing proud and his resemblance to his father and brother unmistakable. "This is Alistair, the last of the Theirins. I have spoken to you today as Teyrna of Highever, and as Una Cousland, Grey Warden. I speak to you now as a fellow Fereldan and a subject of her rightful king by virtue of blood, and I tell you that Highever will support his claim to the throne."

"You're no Teyrna. Bryce Cousland was a traitor!" It was the same voice from the back, and at last Una recognized him as Arl Wulff, from West Hills.

She controlled the flash of rage and grief that swept through her with difficulty, and was both startled and grateful when Alistair spoke for her.

"There has been no proof offered of any treason by the Couslands. And the way in which they were killed—sneakily and in the dead of night—is hardly befitting a land that claims to be honorable. The fact that there was no trial, just a summary execution by someone who claimed to be their friend, makes it hard to believe there ever was any treason. Isn't it more likely that Rendon Howe claimed it for them to cover his own betrayal and murders?"

"He's got a point." Bann Alfstanna of the Waking Sea had made her way through the crowd and was standing near them now. "I knew Bryce and Eleanor Cousland well, and I grew up with Fergus Cousland, and I cannot believe that the people of Ferelden have accepted this flimsy story to cover the bare-faced slaughter of innocent women and children." She looked around the room. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I have been to Highever and seen the carnage there, and I tell you that there was nothing of honor in Rendon Howe's actions there. Now, I suggest we all disperse and give some thought to what the Wardens have said today."

"Thank you, Bann Alfstanna," Una said to her as the rest of the nobles went back to their seats, muttering to each other.

"You're very welcome. Your brother was a dear friend of mine; I was sorry to hear of his loss, and that of the rest of your family."

"Also ..." Una took out the ring that had been given her by the Templar in Howe's dungeons. "I believe this belongs to your brother."

"Irminric?" Alfstanna took the ring, looking at it in confusion. "He would never have taken this off, not willingly." There was suspicion in her eyes as she looked up at Una.

"He is in Howe's dungeons. He wouldn't leave—we tried to convince him, but ... he's very far gone with darkspawn taint, and the time he spent imprisoned in the dungeon hasn't helped. I would have come to find you sooner, but Ser Cauthrien threw me in Fort Drakon, and by the time I got out ..."

Alfstanna nodded. "You're lucky to have gotten out at all. I—I must go see my brother. Here." She put the ring into Una's hands. "Take this, as a sign of the friendship between Highever and Waking Sea. My troops are yours, against the Blight, against Loghain, wherever you need them."

Una thanked her, and she hurried off.

In the silence that followed Alfstanna's exit, Alistair sighed. "Well, that went better than I expected."

"They're reasonable people, and they have Ferelden's best interests at heart ... they just can't always agree on what those best interests are."

"Most of them are with you," Leliana said. "A few might need some convincing."

"And that's what we need to focus on. Should we head to the alienage now and see what Anora was getting at?"

"That's probably a good idea. What could Loghain possibly be up to?" Alistair asked.

"Let's go find out."


	63. Alienage

Una had never been in an alienage before, and walking through now, she wished she had. Surely that ought to have been part of the education her parents gave her, an exploration of how the elves lived. Could this really be what it was usually like? The piles of refuse everywhere, feral dogs snarling at them as they passed, sick elves curled in corners coughing? She hoped not, because otherwise she was ashamed of her people.

In front of a tumble-down shack in what appeared to be the center of the alienage, a crowd of people were lined up, and a robust-looking human in oddly fancy mage robes was looking them over, slowly and thoroughly, one at a time. Some were allowed inside the hut, others sent off looking either worried or disgruntled. Those waiting in the slow-moving line were complaining about the waste of time, to the vocal disgust of a red-haired elf standing off to the side.

"Grey Warden!" It was the elf she had saved from Howe's dungeons. "What brings you to the alienage?"

"I heard strange things were happening here."

"You bet your ass they are!" the red-head said loudly, coming over to them. "Especially when a bunch of nosy shems come down here adding to our troubles."

"Shianni, these are the people who saved my life. My name is Soris," he said, "and this is my cousin Shianni."

"Thank you for what you did." There was still suspicion written plainly on Shianni's face. "We didn't think we'd ever see him again."

Soris sighed. "You almost didn't."

"I'm glad we could help," Una said. She looked at the line of elves, watching as a pretty blonde girl was ushered inside the building. "What's going on over there?"

"Idiots," Shianni snapped. "These men came in and took over the infirmary, started telling us there was Blight here. Now everyone's lining up, leaving all their tasks, to have themselves checked over."

"Blight?" Alistair frowned, looking around them. "No one has Blight sickness here. We're Grey Wardens, there are ways we would know," he added for Shianni's benefit.

"Then what are they doing? People go in to be 'quarantined,' and they don't come out again."

"Why don't we go check out that infimary and find out," Una suggested.

"They won't let you in," Shianni said. "I've tried."

Una smiled. "I can be very persuasive."

Her charm and a certain amount of coin managed to persuade the elf guarding the rear door of the infirmary that he had a very important elsewhere to be, and to forget to take the key with him when he went. They used the key and went boldly in the back door, only to be immediately attacked by men in what appeared to be Tevinter armor.

The Tevinters hadn't been prepared for an attack from the rear, and hadn't expected any resistance other than that of unarmed elves, so they were fairly easy to dispatch. After the bodies had been stacked in the back of the infirmary, they searched the place. Leliana found a mysterious note asking for "six females and four males", and they all looked at each other, distressed.

"I was afraid of some such thing," Leliana said, sighing.

"That sounds like—the Tevinters are taking the elves as slaves?" Una frowned. "How can they do that? Surely … wouldn't someone know?"

Alistair said grimly, "Maybe someone does."

No one felt much like contradicting him. Whatever was going on in the alienage may have resulted from the chaos that ran riot in Denerim, with no proper arl and no proper king, but it was hard to imagine Tevinters moving into the alienage without someone knowing about it.

A group of elves were being held in a cage in a back room, and they set them free, making sure to send them out the back.

Outside, after dealing with the guards and the two mages who were 'checking for Blight sickness'—a job that was all the easier because they were so disgusted by what they had found—Una showed the leaflet to Shianni, whose string of curses in response would have impressed even Oghren, had he been there.

Una waited until the cursing had died down before asking, "Where could they be taking them?"

Shianni was still staring at the leaflet. Soris answered, instead. "No one has seen any sign of the missing elves." He frowned in the direction of the infirmary. "There's an apartment house in the alley behind the infirmary, though, that we used to use to cut through to the back of the warehouses on the docks. If they used that … but surely the inhabitants would notice?"

"You would be surprised how little people see," Leliana said, shaking her head sorrowfully.

Privately, Una suspected that the inhabitants of that apartment house were probably no longer there to see anything, and she could see from the renewed anger in Shianni's eyes that the elf thought the same.

"We'll go find out," she said, reaching out to squeeze Shianni's shoulder.

The elf stared at the gauntlet on her sleeve, frozen in place.

"What is it?" Una asked.

"That's the first time a shem ever touched me that didn't leave a bruise."

"If I have my way," Una told her, "it won't be the last."

Shianni snorted. "Keep saying things like that, and they'll be building your funeral pyre."

"They've tried already. Often. Hasn't been needed yet."

She smiled at Shianni, and then moved into the back alley, searching for the apartment house Soris had mentioned.

As expected, it was deserted, except for one half-mad young elf picking at a pile of garbage at the darkened end of a hall. He confirmed that he'd seen people dragged out of the building through the manager's office, so that's the way the rest of them went. More Tevinters jumped out at them in the process.

"How many of them are there?" Alistair asked, frowning at the bodies. "How big is this operation? Were they planning to sell off the whole alienage?"

"Undoubtedly just the healthy ones." Leliana shrugged at his frown. "It is what they do, Alistair. Railing against its inhumanity can be done later, once we have ended this situation."

"You're right," he muttered, "but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Shh!" Una hissed at them. She had the door to the manager's office open a crack, and was counting how many Tevinters were in the open area between the apartment building and the nearest warehouse. More than she would have expected. "Come on," she said. "They won't be expecting us."

"Right." Alistair sighed, unslinging his shield again.

It was a bit of a job taking out the Tevinters, especially the archers hiding in the weeds that lined the alley, but they managed with only minor injuries.

No sooner had they done so than another troop, this one appearing more disciplined than the first, came out of the warehouse. A female elf was leading the group, and she frowned at the bodies. "That wasn't friendly. I was supposed to be informed if there would be any trouble with the locals."

"I'm not local," Una said with a shrug.

"You can tell your Regent that he'll get his money when the shipment leaves, and not before."

Alistair hissed in a sharp breath at this confirmation. "Shipment?"

"Come on, do I have to spell it out for you?" she asked impatiently. Then understanding dawned, and she looked around at them. "You're not from the Regent."

"No. Just concerned citizens."

The elf looked at them all appraisingly, reaching for an intricately carved bow. "Perhaps we need to take care of you, then."

"No need, really," Una said. "This isn't your fight, is it? Surely you can let someone higher up take care of us." As the elf hesitated, Una gestured around her at the fallen Tevinters they had already dealt with. "Why take the risk?"

At last, the elf nodded. "I think we'll go get the Regent's men. If Caladrius doesn't take care of you, they will. Move out!" she said to her men.

Una and the others went in into the warehouse, where a bald man in those fussy Tevinter robes looked up impatiently. His frown cleared as he looked Una over. "You must be that Grey Warden I've heard so much about. 'Warden' has replaced 'gold' as your Regent's favorite word recently. But I am remiss—I am Caladrius."

"You're the one stealing Fereldan elves?"

"Stealing? My dear lady, I've paid good coin—top coin—for each and every one."

"Sickening," Alistair muttered. "Can we kill him now?"

Caladrius glanced Alistair's way, raising an eyebrow. "Or you could entertain this proposal—you pay me a hundred gold and allow me to leave peacefully with the elves you see here, and I give you a contract with the seal of the Teyrn of Gwaren on it, proving that your Regent was behind this all along."

Una smiled grimly. "Or I keep the hundred gold, kill you, set the elves free, and take the contract off your dead body."

"Well, if you want to be tiresome about it." Caladrius lifted his staff, but Wynne froze him before he could speak.

There were quite a few Tevinters in the room, and it was touch-and-go for a few moments, but they prevailed, and true to her word Una set the elves free and took the incriminating document off the mage's dead body. Valendrian, the head elf of the alienage, was almost incoherent with emotion. Una sent him back to Shianni, giving the red-headed elf the credit for their presence in the alienage.

In the meantime, she and the others returned to Arl Eamon's, where Una intended to have some words with the Queen of Ferelden.


	64. Understanding

As Una was walking through the Market District, she and Alistair both felt the familiar sensation of taint in their veins, and she realized that she had completely forgotten about Riordan. He stepped out of the shadows and fell in beside them.

“Sister, I was waiting for you.”

Alistair frowned at him. “I recognize you. From my Joining!”

“Yes. I am Riordan. It is nice to see you again, Alistair. I take it our sister Warden here neglected to mention me.”

“Things have been a bit ... surprising, since last we spoke. Including spending a significant part of yesterday in Fort Drakon. My apologies. Although, I could swear I told you to meet me at Arl Eamon's estate.”

Riordan shrugged. “I assumed it would be easier to speak in private in the Warden compound.”

“What Warden compound?” Una asked.

Raising his eyebrows, Riordan said, “You don't know about the Warden compound here in Denerim?”

“No. Alistair?”

He shook his head. “I've never been to Denerim as a Warden.”

“Look,” Una said to Riordan, “let that be your guideline when you try to determine what we know and what we do not know. Duncan certainly had little time to impart to me any information, and the Wardens seem to have made a game out of keeping Alistair in the dark. I'm not impressed with the secrecy, or with the lack of assistance. From what I can tell, the Grey Warden motto goes something like 'we stop Blights ... but only when it's convenient.'” Her voice was rising with her increasing agitation, and Riordan took a step back from her.

“You have our apologies on all counts,” he said. “Certainly it has been to no one's benefit that two junior Wardens were left alone to stand against the Blight in Ferelden, but I think you must also understand that outside Ferelden, few believe that we are actually facing a Blight, and that includes the Wardens as well as the rulers. I disobeyed orders to come here and see for myself, and had I not been imprisoned by Arl Howe—and for much more than a day, might I add—I would have found a way to contact my fellow Wardens and bring them into the country in strength, this I promise you.”

Una shook her head. “I believe you, I do, but it's too late now. The horde is massing, the armies are assembled. Once we get through this Landsmeet, we march on the darkspawn. And we need you to stay and help.”

He nodded. “I shall, of course. And whatever knowledge I have will be at your disposal.” Riordan looked around the marketplace. “This is not the best place to speak, however. We do not know how many ears may be listening. And while I sympathize with your distaste for the Grey Wardens' secrecy, there are reasons why it is important to maintain.”

“Then come with us to Arl Eamon's. I really don't have time to go to the Grey Warden compound right now—there are other matters afoot that require my attention quickly.”

Riordan frowned. “What could be more important than the Blight?”

“Civil war,” Una said shortly. “And before you argue about staying out of local politics, let me point out that as long as the armies of Ferelden are fighting each other, they are not fighting the darkspawn. We need to resolve Ferelden's issues quickly in order to get the forces we need pointed in the right direction.”

“In that case, perhaps my next task should be to continue my journey toward Ostagar. With luck, I can find the heart of the Blight and determine where the Archdemon resides. If we wish to defeat it, we must know where it is and how soon it might strike.” Riordan glanced over at Una. “I would guess that in your political entanglements, you have not learned that information.”

“No,” she said, hating to have her shortcomings pointed up to her. Of course, if there had been more than two of them ... “Is it wise for you to go alone?” she asked him.

Riordan shrugged. “If there were more of us, I would say no, but the armies you have gathered will be arriving here, and they will expect their commander to be here to greet them and organize them. And Alistair, as I understand it, is not to be spared from the current political machinations, either.”

Alistair looked sour at that, and Una stifled a sigh. They were all quiet the rest of the way back to Arl Eamon's, where Una excused herself to go talk to Anora about the things they had found in the alienage.

Alistair stayed behind with Riordan. “Did you know Duncan well?” he asked the older Warden.

Riordan nodded. “We went through our Joining together, more years ago than I like to think of. He was just the same then—as tough as stone and just as grizzled.” He smiled. “And a good man, too. His loss is ... difficult. Although, I rather imagine he would have been glad to go fighting, rather than endure the Calling.”

“Are you—?” Alistair caught himself, not certain if that was an acceptable question to ask.

“Not yet, no. But ... I will also not mind if I meet my end in this coming conflict, as long as it is part of the final defeat of the Archdemon.” Riordan looked at him for a moment. “Duncan always had a bit of a soft spot for his recruits. I imagine that he would be very proud of the way you and your fellow Warden have conducted yourselves in this crisis.”

Alistair felt tears sting the back of his eyes. He had hoped so, certainly, although he knew better than Riordan did which of them was more deserving of Duncan's pride. He hadn't exactly covered himself in glory in those early days, and even now wasn't certain where his duty really lay, with the crown or the Wardens.

Meanwhile, Una climbed the stairs to Anora's room. The Queen of Ferelden had made herself at home and done some shopping, or had some done for her. She was in a very beautiful gown, fully made up and with her hair done. “Greetings, Warden,” she said calmly as Una entered the room. “I wonder, have you given any further thought to our situation? I would like to be assured of your support in the Landsmeet.”

“I would like to be assured of your position on what I just discovered in the alienage,” Una snapped, in no mood to be politic. “Did you know that your father sold Fereldan elves into slavery? There were Tevinter mages and Tevinter soldiers all over the alienage, taking elves into captivity—and it wasn't the first shipload to go, either.”

Anora's hand flew to her mouth in a very good show of shock. Una had her suspicions about its genuineness, but she wasn't about to argue right now; it was to everyone's advantage that she play along with Anora as much as she could. “I had no idea,” Anora breathed. “You must believe me! Selling our people to Tevinter? I would never have been party to such a travesty.” She shook her head. “All the more reason to consolidate our support against him before we go into the Landsmeet.”

“Can you really stand against your father?” Una remembered how Anora had hero-worshipped her father when they were younger. Everything out of the older girl's mouth had been some form of “My father says ...”

“Do you think I could calmly stand by the side of a man who had my husband killed?” Anora asked.

“I am sorry for your loss, Anora. Cailan was a good man.”

“He was. And far happier in the field than in the throne room. I suppose I should be glad for him that he went that way ... but I am afraid all I can see is the mess left behind. Perhaps that makes me a bad person,” Anora added, almost in a whisper.

“I saw him before the battle. He was looking forward to it. His enthusiasm was ...” Una couldn't think of a word that didn't make Cailan sound childish.

Anora smiled a little. Clearly she had followed Una's thoughts. “Yes. For Cailan, the world was a storybook and he the hero. My father would have seen that as dangerous. I know he did. He, too, is an idealist, as Cailan was, but he knows what idealism costs.” She shook her head. “They often clashed, but Cailan usually came 'round to Father's way of thinking ... eventually. With the Blight, perhaps there wasn't time enough for Father to convince him. And all Father could see was the boy he had swaddled inviting Orlesian troops back into the country he had driven them from, not that long ago. For once, my poor, foolish husband wouldn't back down.”

“You almost sound as if you condone what Loghain did,” Una said quietly.

“No, not condone. Understand, though, yes. If one does not understand the opposition, one runs the risk of being taken by surprise.”

“Does one.”

Anora raised her eyebrows. “Do you think I cannot see?” She smiled. “Maric's boys are charming, and happiest when they have a woman to dote upon. Is that why you support him?”

Una could have kicked herself for having let her jealousy show yesterday. “He is a Theirin,” she said simply. “With all that that implies. In addition to the bloodline, he has the intelligence, the compassion, and the strength to be King.”

“As long as the right woman is behind him? You do not say it, but I know what you are thinking; a Theirin and a Cousland together on the throne, the way it always should have been.”

“I never wanted Cailan's throne!”

“No? Are you certain your name was not bandied about when Eamon tried to get Cailan to throw me over for someone who could give the country an heir?”

“Never with my knowledge, and my parents would never have supported such an effort.”

Anora held Una's gaze for a moment, then dropped her eyes. “No. I imagine you are right. I am sorry for your losses, as well, you know. Your mother was always kind to me, and Fergus was a good friend to both Cailan and me. That you still stand here before me, having accomplished all that you have is ... impressive, to say the least, and I am certain your parents and your brother would be proud of you.”

“Thank you. I hope so.”

Anora gave a businesslike nod. “The chief task before us is to stop my father, for his own sake as well as the country's, before this madness of his causes any further harm. Once that is settled, if the Landsmeet supports Alistair's claim to the throne, I will be content.”

Una wasn't certain she believed it, but they were the right words, and she would have to be satisfied with them for now. “Thank you.”

“Now, if you wouldn't mind ... I am rather tired,” Anora said.

“Of course.” Una left her there alone, still wondering what the other woman was truly thinking. Anora was right; not understanding her enemy left Una open to surprises, and that was not a position she liked to be in.


	65. Precipice

In the next few days before the Landsmeet, Una was busy all over Denerim, visiting the nobility. She brought Alistair along with her so that he could get used to the people he'd be needing to work with once he became king, and did everything she could to bolster his confidence before each new visit.

Zev and Leliana were busy, as well, scouting out secrets and trying to determine how the Wardens stood in the Landsmeet. Eamon kept trying to 'talk' to Alistair, which frustrated Una because every talk ended in Alistair feeling he couldn't possibly be king, that he wasn't smart or talented or skilled enough. If this was the way he had been treated growing up, Una couldn't be surprised that he had turned out with so little confidence in himself—if anything, she couldn't believe he had ended up with as much as he had.

Riordan had gone out scouting for the darkspawn horde, promising to return as soon as he knew where the Archdemon might be. The Queen remained in residence at Eamon's, speaking little and listening much, particularly to Alistair, which made Una uncomfortable for a number of reasons.

By this point, all Una wanted was to get the Landsmeet over with and get back to fighting darkspawn. Even bandits—anything straightforward she could hit with a big hammer. Ruefully, she thought that that probably wasn't the way a future queen of the realm should be thinking. She should be thriving on all these machinations. But the stakes were high; if they lost, she and Alistair would likely be thrown into prison again, and it probably wouldn't be so easy to escape the next time. And if they were taken out of commission, then no doubt the Blight would spread and take over Ferelden.

Una groaned, looking out the window across the rooftops of Denerim. Maybe she should have just stuck to being a Grey Warden and fighting the Blight, instead of all these politics. But Loghain had forced this issue, she reminded herself, not she. He had been the one to call her and Alistair traitors and begin hunting them. Had he left them alone, maybe they'd have found and defeated the Archdemon already.

Behind her the door opened and closed, and Alistair leaned back against it, groaning. "Honestly, you would think he was trying to make up for all the lectures he didn't give me in the last decade. Tell me, Una, how old am I? Because I'm suddenly feeling very ten."

She looked at him over her shoulder, grinning. "You don't look ten, trust me."

"You want to tell Arl Eamon that? Feel free to be detailed."

"After tomorrow, assuming all goes well, you'll be the King of Ferelden, and you can tell him yourself." More seriously, she added, "I would recommend choosing someone other than Eamon as your royal advisor, however. He doesn't seem to have quite the right approach to get your best effort out of you."

"No," Alistair agreed. "He makes me feel like I have dirt on my nose. I don't, do I?"

"Let me see." Una left the window and went to him, putting her arms around his neck and kissing his nose. "Not a speck."

"Good. Besides, I thought you were my royal advisor."

"Do I make you feel older than ten, and with a clean nose?"

"Most definitely. You're hired." His arms slid around her waist, and he leaned his forehead against her shoulder. "Are we going to win tomorrow?"

She gave him the answer she wanted to give him although she wasn't sure if it was the one he wanted to hear. "Yes."

"Do we want to win tomorrow? It's not too late to back Anora."

"After what we've seen? You can't possibly think she's displayed any ability to rule without Cailan. The country's falling to pieces."

"I suppose you're right." He lifted his head and looked at her seriously. "How much of this is about Howe and what he did to your family?"

Una winced, but she tried her best to give him as balanced and thoughtful an answer as she could muster on that particular topic. "More of it is about the reaction to what Howe did to my family, or lack thereof. He was allowed to profit from what he had done, and no one lifted a hand to punish him for his crimes." Tears stung her eyes and she tried to fight them back, but it was no use. "All these people pretended to be my parents' friends. They ate at my mother's table and drank in my father's study, their children played with Fergus and me. But as soon as something went wrong, they just pretended it never happened and let my parents' murderer take everything. Because it was easier," she finished bitterly.

Alistair put his arms around her, holding her tightly, but he couldn't think what to say. She wasn't wrong; from everything he knew about Ferelden politics, from everything he understood about her parents, they deserved to have had their deaths prosecuted, at least, if not outright avenged, and instead there appeared to have been widespread apathy. How much of that was due to the Blight and the civil war and the death of Cailan was hard to say, and he thought eventually Una would come to forgive her fellow nobles because of all the turmoil ... but he couldn't blame her for her anger and her hurt against those who should have stood and fought with her and had instead cowered in safety, pretending nothing was wrong.

He kept those thoughts to himself, settling for simply holding her and letting her get all that pain out.

After a long time, she lifted her head off his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said, sniffling. "That was incredibly poorly timed."

"No, it wasn't. You needed that."

"Yes, but ... you can't afford to be distracted now. Neither can I."

"I beg to disagree," Alistair said softly. He lifted her hair off her neck and kissed the soft skin he'd revealed. "I think this is the perfect time for distractions. Tomorrow is coming whether we like it or not, and we've done all we can to prepare. For now, I think the best thing we can do is think of something else and try to take our minds off whether we will win or lose tomorrow."

"Well ... you may be right." Una dug out a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her eyes and nose. "Obsessing over the Landsmeet is probably a good way to go crazy before it gets here."

"Before we get too distracted," Alistair said, "I just wanted to say ... thank you."

"For what?"

"For believing in me. For making me believe in myself."

"Have I made you believe in yourself, Alistair?" Una asked him, studying his face.

He smiled. "Sometimes."

"We'll have to see if we can't improve on that in the future and make it all the time. Meanwhile, thank you, too."

"For what?"

"For giving me something to live for. I mean, the Grey Wardens, yes, important tasks ... but without a family, without someone to love and care for ... I grew up with that, and to have lost all the people who made life worth living ... You gave me that back. Thank you," she whispered, closing his mouth with a kiss before he could reply.

Alistair's hands closed on her hips, holding her against him as the kiss deepened. Still kissing, they stripped each other's clothes off, hands stroking and caressing the sensitive areas they revealed. He lifted her into his arms, her long legs wrapping around his waist, and pressed her up against the wall, finding her center easily and sliding in with one practiced thrust. The climb to the peak was slow and steady, both of them finding it together, but once wasn't enough. Not tonight, not when tomorrow's events promised so much change no matter how they went.

Tonight, they were Una and Alistair, two Grey Wardens, for the last time. By the time the Landsmeet ended, they would either be the future King and Queen of Ferelden or two traitors to the throne, imprisoned. As far as Una could tell, there was little chance of anything in between. And so tonight she would cling to him, to what they had shared, while she could.


	66. Landsmeet

The next morning came all too soon. They dressed in armor that Eamon's staff had cleaned and polished until it shone, they filled their stomachs with a Grey Warden-sized breakfast that Alistair devoutly hoped he wouldn't regurgitate all over the floor of the Landsmeet later, and they gathered their allies around them.

Wynne would come along, her magic at their backs in case it should be needed, and Oghren, representing the dwarves' support of Alistair's bid for the throne. His armor had been polished, too, and someone had managed to see that his beard was cleaned up and freshly braided. He looked as clean as Una had ever seen him.

Naturally, Arl Eamon was with them, looking nervous and finding something new to remind Alistair not to forget every other minute. His agitation wasn't settling Alistair's stomach in the least; just the opposite, in fact. At this rate, finally getting to the Landsmeet chamber would be a significant relief.

Anora had gone on ahead, or so her elven maid had told Una. If Una had trusted Anora, this would have raised disquiet in her breast, but she didn't trust the queen to be out for anyone's benefit other than her own, so Una wasn't particularly surprised. There was nothing she could do to prevent Anora from turning on them and pushing her own agenda—and why shouldn't she, really?—but Una hoped that at the very least her arguments were strong enough to counteract whatever Anora might say in her own defense.

It seemed strange to Alistair that the people they passed in the streets were going about their business as though this were any other day. Today would decide Ferelden's future—he was surprised they weren't more concerned about that. Then again, many of them were refugees from the south, still too stunned and grief-stricken over what they had lost to care what the country stood to gain—or to lose—today. And it filled Alistair with guilt that here he was embroiled in a political mess when in the south the darkspawn horde marched unchecked. His job, his duty lay there, didn't it?

He looked at Una in front of him, so tall and confident. She seemed to have no doubt that this was the right course of action, that they needed to settle Ferelden's internal issues first before they could tackle the darkspawn, to ensure themselves of Ferelden's army at their backs. It was the same thing they had done for the dwarves, he reminded himself. Could he do less for his own people than he had done for those of Orzammar?

At last, they stopped outside. Una turned to look at him. "Could everyone give us a moment alone, please?" she asked. Arl Eamon looked as though he was about to argue, but at a look from Una he went inside with Wynne and Oghren. Alistair wondered if he could cultivate such a look, one that would make people do what he wanted them to do. He doubted it.

When they were alone, but for the curious bystanders walking by them on the street, Una put her hands on Alistair's shoulders. "Are you ready for this? There's no turning back, once we walk in here."

He nodded.

"I need to hear the words, Alistair. I need to know—" She needed to know she wasn't pushing him into something he couldn't handle, that he believed he could learn to find the confidence in himself that she had always seen.

Alistair shrugged, looking away from her wide golden eyes. "I can't pretend that if I were on my own, I would go through with this. Left to myself, I would back Anora."

"I know," Una said in a small voice. Guilt was attacking her—was she really pushing him into something he couldn't handle? She reminded herself that she believed in him, that Anora hadn't had the guts to stand up to her own father so how could she really be the leader Ferelden needed, that Alistair had spent a lifetime being told he wasn't worthy of the throne.

"But," he continued, his voice strengthening, "you're not wrong about the state of this country; for Ferelden, I'm willing to step up and do whatever I can." He reached for her hand, squeezing it as best he could given that they were both wearing metal gauntlets. "And I may not believe in myself, but I believe in you. If you think I can do this ... then I will."

"You know I do," Una whispered.

"And I'll have you at my side." He shook his head. "I wouldn't want to do this without you."

"You won't have to."

They went inside together—only to find Ser Cauthrien and a number of her soldiers blocking the way. Cauthrien and Eamon were already exchanging words, the situation escalating rapidly. Una pushed her way between them.

"Stop this, both of you. Ser Cauthrien, what is this about?"

"You will not disrupt these proceedings with your treasonous rantings!"

"It's not treason to want to put a Theirin on the throne, Cauthrien. Let the Landsmeet do its job—let them decide whether Alistair's claim is justified. If it isn't, what does Loghain have to fear?"

Cauthrien frowned, but didn't waver.

"Listen to me!" Una said urgently. "There's a Blight out there. You've seen it, Cauthrien. You know what a threat the darkspawn are. Does Loghain? Because as far as I can tell, he's just let them have southern Ferelden, preferring instead to chase us around the country." She waved the treaties. "I've marshaled an army—dwarves and elves, mages, as many Fereldan forces as could be pulled away from this civil war. We're ready to attack the darkspawn. Is Loghain?"

"No," Cauthrien admitted unwillingly.

"You were at Ostagar," Alistair said. "You know the Grey Wardens fought and died at King Cailan's side—you know they didn't lead him to his death. You were at that final war meeting; I saw you in the shadows! You know it was Cailan's plan. But Loghain blames it on us."

"Yes, he does. He ... he is so obsessed with Orlais," she whispered. "So concerned with keeping the Orlesians from our borders, he can't see beyond that. Don't you understand?"

"I do," Una said. "But in his obsession with keeping the Orlesians out of our borders, he's forgotten to care for those within. Please, Cauthrien, let us pass. Let us stop this madness and redirect our troops against the darkspawn instead of against each other."

Cauthrien looked down at her boots. "I ... never thought duty would taste so bitter. Stop him, Warden, before it's too late. But—show mercy."

Una took a deep breath. "I will try."

Signaling to her men, Cauthrien stepped aside. "Remember, there are many in this country who remember him as a hero. And he has been one, to all of us. Don't let a few mistakes born of obsession define him."

"Maybe if you'd said that to him, more of those who fought at Ostagar would still be alive," Alistair said bitterly.

"Perhaps," Cauthrien agreed. "Or perhaps the rest of the army would have suffered Cailan's fate. We will never know." She disappeared into the shadows, her men following her.

"Let's do this, then," Una said. She nodded at Arl Eamon, who strode ahead, pushing open the doors of the Landsmeet, and then she pushed Alistair ahead of her, watching his tall, straight-shouldered carriage. In the black armor they had found in Orzammar, he looked serious, more so than Cailan ever had in his gaudier sets. But he also looked every inch a Theirin, and Una was banking on the Landsmeet being swayed, at least a little, by his resemblance to the kings who had gone before him. She followed Alistair, with Wynne and Oghren behind her.

Looking around the Landsmeet chamber, she tried to hide both the tears that threatened and the butterflies that filled her. Her parents should be here, her brother, in their rightful place; but they weren't. She was all that was left. She could only pray that she made them proud with her words and actions today.

"Ah, the puppet who would be king." Loghain's voice boomed out at them as they entered the room. "And behind him, the puppeteers. Which of you speaks for Orlais? Is it you, Eamon, or you, whelp, child of traitors?"

"My parents were no traitors!" Una shouted back.

"Prove it."

"You mean, the way Howe proved their guilt before he came sneaking into our home at night, pretending to be my father's friend, and slaughtered my sister-in-law and my nephew in their beds? If anyone thought my parents traitors, there are laws; they should have been tried. But they weren't. They were murdered, and you didn't lift a finger against their killer. Did you order them killed, Loghain, the way you ordered Arl Eamon poisoned?" The words spilled forth from her; she might as well never have practiced her careful speeches, marshaled her arguments in an orderly fashion.

Loghain's face darkened, and he took a step toward her. "Rendon Howe acted in this country's best interests."

Una looked around her at the assembled Landsmeet. "Is that what you all say? That from now on Ferelden should be a country where a person suspected of a crime can be killed in his own home, with all his family, without benefit of trial? Which of you will Loghain accuse of being in Orlais' pocket next, in that case?"

There were murmurs at that, a loud grumbling, and Loghain's frown deepened.

"I looked up to you," Una said to him. "All my life. I grew up on tales of your heroism, and you and King Maric were the saviors of our country. It is none of my doing that we stand here now opposed to one another. Somewhere you've lost your way; your obsession with keeping Orlais out of our country has caused you to leave the country wide open to the darkspawn. They are advancing all but unchecked across the south."

One of the nobles leaned over the balcony. "The bodies in my bannorn are proof of that!"

"Isn't that your job, Warden?" Loghain asked, sneering over the title.

"I couldn't do my job, not and run from all the men you wasted chasing me. Not to mention that because of you, I had to spend the last several months wandering all over the country enforcing ancient treaties to get help, because the armies of Ferelden were pointed at each other instead of at the darkspawn. The dwarves and the Dalish recognize the seriousness of this situation, Loghain—why don't you?"

"It is because of me that Ferelden has an army!" Loghain roared at her. "Had I followed Cailan's plan, the entire army would be dead now, not just half of it."

"So because you walked away from a battle with your army intact, you can afford to ignore the depradations the darkspawn are committing on the lands you pretend to care about?" Alistair said, pushing himself between them, goaded out of his shyness. "I've been there—I've seen them. Women and children slaughtered, or worse, out of their minds with taint. Lands blackened, useless for generations to come. You are throwing away our future!" he shouted. "Meanwhile, you sit here comfortably in Denerim, safe from any danger, selling off Fereldan citizens to Tevinter slavers for coin. And where is that coin going? It's not going into this city—have you seen the streets? The guards? The starving refugees? You must walk by them every day."

"How dare you question me, you who have taken my daughter," Loghain breathed, nose-to-nose with Alistair. "What have you done with her, with Ferelden's queen?"

Alistair's eyebrows rose, and Una groaned inwardly. Here it came. She'd known all along that Anora was playing a deep game with them, and had strongly suspected that Anora and Loghain were working together. Why Anora would have sent her to the alienage to look for evidence of Loghain's crimes was another question ... although Una had to imagine that that was Anora gathering what proof she could of Loghain's unfitness to get him off the throne for herself, once Una and Alistair were dealt with. No one had ever accused Anora of being less than intelligent.

"I am here, Father." Anora hurried from a side door, putting her arms around Loghain. "I am safe. At last," she added, looking over his shoulder at Una. There was triumph in her eyes. Letting go of Loghain, Anora turned to face the assembled Landsmeet. "Lords and ladies of Ferelden, hear me. This Warden has slandered and defamed our nation's greatest hero in a bid to put an impostor on the throne." She looked at Una, her blue eyes glittering in triumph.

"He is no impostor!" Arl Eamon shouted over the ensuing din. "I have writings in Maric's own hand admitting his paternity, against this very day."

"Forged, no doubt," Loghain sneered.

"You know the truth as well as I do," Eamon replied, standing tall in the face of Loghain's black anger.

Una held Anora's gaze. "I am sorry for what happened to Cailan," she said. "It was his plan, and I think we all knew it had flaws, but he was the king ... and it could have worked, if the backup had come when it was called." She glanced at Loghain, whose sneer was still firmly in place. "But I think you have proven you are not the queen you think you are, by letting your father walk in here and take over the responsibilities which ought to have been yours, by letting yourself be pushed out of government. I grieve, too, Anora. I lost parents, home, title, and more when Rendon Howe burnt Highever Castle. But instead of wallowing in my grief and letting someone else do what must be done, I pushed on, and I gathered allies against the Blight. The dwarves, the Dalish, the mages from the Circle tower all stand ready to assist us against the darkspawn. I did that, while you sat here and sewed samplers and let your daddy do your job for you. Who can say you won't do that again, the next time a strong hand is needed?"

"You overstep your bounds," Loghain said, putting himself between Anora and Una. "You're nothing but the spoiled child of an Orlesian traitor."

Una saw red, bile rising in her throat. She forced herself to calm down enough to speak without screaming. "There you go again," she said thickly, "fighting your daughter's battles for her. Why don't you let her speak for herself? Is it because you're afraid she won't toe the party line? Or reveal the things you've done, letting Rendon Howe loose on this city to kidnap and torture people, selling the elves out of the alienage?" She shook her head. "Enough of this!" She turned to the Landsmeet. "Lords and ladies of the Landsmeet, you know what it's like out there. That's what has happened since Anora was left the throne, since Loghain took over for Cailan and pushed her aside. You think he won't do the same to you? Give Alistair a chance. He knows this country, and her people, and he can unite us all under one flag, ending this war and freeing us to fight as one against the darkspawn."

"This child does not know what she is saying! She is so caught up in revenge for the loss of her family that she can see nothing else. When it comes to it, now that she has killed Rendon Howe, she has no one to back up her claim regarding what occurred at Highever Castle." Anora cast a sharp glance at Una, her lips twisting in a bitter smile. "Since Ostagar, she has done nothing but defy the throne and foment rebellion. Had she turned herself in from the beginning, we could have worked together, but instead she created this mad scheme to put this … bastard of hers on the throne in my place, and has slandered my father vilely in the process. I am your Queen—let me do my job!"

"Enough." Bann Alfstanna stepped forward. "We have heard what everyone has had to say. It is time for the Landsmeet to consider the situation. All of you, please wait in the antechamber while we discuss what is best to be done." She looked at Anora, Loghain, Una, and Alistair each in turn, her face set and forbidding. "You each pledge to submit to the will of the Landsmeet?"

Una nodded, trying to still the butterflies in her stomach. Had she done enough? Said enough? Said too much? She looked around the room, trying to number the votes she could count on, but it was impossible to say.


	67. Decision

They waited in the antechamber while the Landsmeet deliberated. Una and Loghain paced on opposite ends of the room. Anora stood silently, watching them all with a little smile playing around her mouth. Alistair crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, looking down at his feet. Una couldn’t see his expression in that position.

Eamon stood next to Alistair, talking to him in a low voice. Una hoped he was saying encouraging things; this had been a stressful enough experience for Alistair already without Eamon adding pressure that Alistair wasn’t prepared for. 

The time dragged interminably, broken by the occasional raised voice from inside the Landsmeet chamber. Una and Loghain’s heads both snapped up every time they could hear so much as a word, but Una, at least, could never tell what was actually being said. She tried to tell herself that the Landsmeet couldn’t possibly go with Loghain—wasn’t there ample evidence that Loghain and Anora, in any combination, hadn’t done right by Ferelden in her time of need? But every time she had herself half convinced, she would think about Alistair’s dubious parentage, Eamon’s sudden claim to have proof of it, Loghain’s reputation, Anora as the grieving widow of the legitimate king, and convince herself just as thoroughly that she and Alistair couldn’t win.

At last, the doors opened and Bann Alfstanna came out, looking harried and exhausted. She refused to make eye contact with anyone. “You may all enter now. The Landsmeet is ready to deliver its judgment.”

There were a number of looks between the candidates and their supporters, and a bit of jockeying to see who would enter first. Una finally held Alistair back, letting everyone else precede them, and they walked in last, arm in arm, in a deliberately unhurried pace.

When Loghain and Anora, Alistair and Una all stood in front of her, with Arl Eamon hovering as close as he could, Bann Alfstanna spoke. “As you might imagine, this was not an easy decision. Teyrn Loghain is a hero, responsible for driving the Orlesians from our borders, and Anora is the sitting queen, widow of Maric’s only acknowledged son. On the other hand, I think there is little doubt that Alistair here carries Theirin blood—it might as well be stamped on his face. And the Couslands are one of our oldest families. Bryce Cousland came very near being named King of Ferelden when Maric went missing, after all. The two of you do intend to rule together, yes?” Alfstanna asked. 

Una nodded, but didn’t interrupt, and was pleased to see that Alistair nodded as well. Not that she had really thought he would go back on their agreement, but … under the pressure of the Landsmeet, many strange things had happened before, according to the stories her parents had told her. 

“So you see our dilemma.”

Loghain began to speak, but checked himself at a look from Anora.

Alfstanna sighed heavily. “It would have been the Landsmeet’s first choice that you all learn to work together; the collected ability and experience standing in front of me should always have been used on Ferelden’s behalf, and instead you have all wasted time and energy and resources fighting against one another.”

Una didn’t bother to protest that Loghain had forced her back, and Alistair’s, against the wall. Because Alfstanna was right; it had been a waste.

“Nevertheless,” Alfstanna continued, “a decision had to be made, and the Landsmeet has chosen to place its trust in the future rather than in the past: Alistair will be crowned our king.”

Anora went white to the lips, her anger all the more obvious, at least to Una, for its silence. 

Loghain stepped forward, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. “No! No, you people cannot do this! Do you know what I have given to this country, what I have sacrificed, and you will now give away the land that I sweated for, the land I preserved for you, to these … Orlesian pretenders?”

Una met him, putting her hand over his as it gripped the sword’s hilt. “My family has been Fereldan since before yours ever thought of forming a bloodline,” she hissed at him. “Call me Orlesian again and I’ll kill you.”

He yanked his hand off the sword and away from hers, glaring at her. “I will stand down,” he said to Alfstanna, “if she bests me in single combat.”

Alfstanna looked between the two of them. “Both of you step back immediately.” She waited until they did so, then said, “There will be no blood shed; the two of you have been responsible for enough of it already. While it might have been better had you simply taken each other’s lives from the start, the fact is that the die has been cast and you have come out on the bottom, Loghain. You are fortunate that you are not stripped of your Teyrnir—yet,” she said, as Alistair made a noise of protest. “Should the King choose to bring charges of treason against you, that could still happen.”

Loghain’s lip curled at the word “king.” “I recognize no such person.”

“It isn’t up to you.” Alfstanna turned to Una. “When would you like to have the coronation?”

“As soon as—“ Una caught herself. These were no longer her decisions; she was going to have to learn to defer to Alistair, to bolster his confidence. “What do you think?”

Alistair raised his eyebrows. This was real, then, was it? He was in charge; he was to be the King of Ferelden, a title that he had never once in all his life associated with himself. But it was done now, and he had no choice but to be the best king he could be. The people he had met on his travels deserved no less. He cleared his throat. “I agree with my fellow Grey Warden, as soon as possible. We’ll need to muster our forces and determine the location of the darkspawn. We don’t want the Blight to go on any longer than necessary.”

He was startled when the Landsmeet cheered him. All but Loghain and Anora, of course, both of whom were glaring at him. Well, he hadn’t created their troubles, had he? It seemed to him they had made their own beds; he hoped they liked them. 

“As for the Teyrn of Gwaren and the former Queen of Ferelden, they will be imprisoned—separately, with no contact with one another—until such time as the Blight has been defeated and there is time to deal with their treason against the Crown.”

“I am the Crown!” Anora protested. “I’ve committed no treason.”

“Allowing your father to do what he did?” Una snapped. “Tell the elves that that isn’t treason, see if they believe you.”

Guards took Loghain and Anora away, Anora protesting and Loghain glaring sullenly. Alistair had a sudden vicious wish that he had been able to fight the older man in single combat; he would have liked to have cut his head off, painting the Landsmeet red with traitor’s blood. But Alfstanna was right; this was better.

Standing next to him, Alfstanna cleared her throat, looking cautiously at Una and then at Alistair. “There is also the matter of the Teyrnir of Highever. Given what was allowed to happen to the Couslands, nothing further will be said about any allegations—”

“I should hope not,” Una said hotly.

Alfstanna’s face reddened, and there was a lot of uncomfortable foot-shuffling amongst the rest of the Landsmeet. “We are more than willing to confirm you as Teyrna today, my lady.”

Una’s mouth pinched and she pressed her lips together to keep from crying. Her mother was Teyrna. And if not her mother, then Fergus’s wife. He was going to need one if—when—he came back. “I would prefer to wait, with the Landsmeet’s permission. My brother’s body has never been found, and while perhaps it is foolish to cling to hope … I would rather do so until the Blight has been defeated.” She half-expected to be chastised for her naivete, but the assembled Landsmeet murmured in approval. Many of them had known and liked Fergus, and it sounded as though they, too, hoped he would return alive somehow.

“Very well,” Alfstanna said. “The Landsmeet is adjourned until tomorrow, when we will reconvene to crown our new king.”

Cheers erupted in the chamber, relief that a decision had been made, and Alistair reached for Una’s hand, clinging to it tightly. He would never have come this far without her; he would never be able to perform the tasks before him without her.


	68. Issue

When the Landsmeet had been formally adjourned, Alistair and Una were surrounded by well-wishers and people questioning them about their intentions and their plans for the future. Alistair felt overwhelmed by it all and was beginning to resort to witty one-liners meant to put off the questioners and make them go away … until he remembered that these people had chosen him over Loghain, when he was an unknown quantity distinguished only by the Theirin blood that ran in his veins. He was sick of being defined by that blood; he wanted people to see him as Alistair, not as Maric's bastard, and if he wanted that, Alistair was going to have to have some things to say that people wanted to hear.

So he took a deep breath and tackled the next question to reach his ears, an older man's concern about the recovery of the farmlands in the Bannorn after the Blight. Fortunately, this happened to be something Alistair had given a lot of thought to as he walked the roads of Ferelden looking at the blighted land left behind by the darkspawn, so he was able to speak intelligently on the topic. And as he spoke, something strange happened—people near him quieted and started to listen to what he had to say. To date, only Una had ever stopped to listen to him. Was this what being King was about? Having his opinions listened to and thought about? It was an exhilarating thought—and a frightening thought. If people were going to listen to him, he'd better make sure that what he said had some value.

Una hung back, answering the occasional question herself, but deferring to Alistair as much as possible. She was proud of him for having successfully fought back his tendency to hide from responsibility by deflecting it with humor and self-deprecation, and she was more confident than ever that the decision to put him on the throne would turn out to be the right one for Ferelden.

Eventually they managed to extricate themselves from the nobles of the Landsmeet in order to return to Eamon's residence and inform the rest of their team of what had occurred—assuming they hadn't already heard. Rumors flew fast in Denerim, and already there were people surrounding them, flocking to see their new king.

Eamon kept up with Alistair, talking a blue streak about plans and schemes and schedules and all sorts of things Alistair couldn't follow, still overwhelmed by the events of the day. Finally he couldn't take it anymore, and he stopped in the middle of the street. "Arl Eamon, could we let this all wait? The coronation isn't until tomorrow, and the priority even after that is still the war against the darkspawn."

"My dear boy, you are still thinking like a Grey Warden," the Arl objected.

"I still am a Grey Warden, and my focus is on the Blight. As—as King," he said, struggling to get the word out, still feeling a little funny applying it to himself, "that should also be my focus. Whatever political machinations might go on here, they are valueless if the Archdemon is still free to terrorize the country."

"I suppose you have a point," Eamon conceded. "We can talk tomorrow after the coronation."

"Thank you." Alistair looked around for Una, but couldn't see her. She must have gone on ahead to the estate while he and Arl Eamon were talking. He didn't mind, for a change. He needed to think, to sit down somewhere alone and get it all straight in his head.

As soon as they reached the estate, he did just that, finding himself a corner of the pantry and a big wheel of cheese, trying to work through everything that had happened and everything that he wanted and what his duty was to his people now and how that all fit in with being a Grey Warden. It was a lot to take in, and a lot of decisions to make quickly and decisively—which wasn't at all his strong suit.

When at last he emerged from the pantry, he felt better, if still a bit dazed, and he wanted nothing more than to find his room and go into it and close the door and hold Una in his arms, taking comfort from her strength and her support and her love. But even that had its pitfalls … there were so many reasons why they might have to rethink their plans to marry.

Nonetheless, the idea of avoiding their room and possibly running into Arl Eamon and getting drawn into a discussion of the Arl's plans for Alistair's reign was something Alistair just couldn't face yet. He didn't know much about being a king, but he knew he wanted to learn how to be one on his own terms—not on Eamon's, or Loghain's, or his father's … or even Una's, necessarily.

Una had spent the afternoon in her own deep thoughts, although they were slightly less overwhelmed than Alistair's. She had never lacked faith in their ability to prevail in the Landsmeet. She'd been prepared to lose, but she hadn't expected to. And her first thoughts were triumphant.

Her second thoughts were less so; she desperately wanted her mother, and her father, and Fergus there to hold on to, to exult together over her victory, to talk to them about her pending marriage to Alistair, to get their advice on what to do once they ascended to the throne. Just to hear their voices one more time.

By the time they reached Eamon's estate, she was holding back tears with difficulty, and she excused herself and hurried off to her room as soon as possible, throwing herself on the bed and letting loose the flood of tears that demanded an outlet.

Una wept for a long time. When it was over, her face felt raw and swollen with the tears. She scrubbed her arm over her face impatiently to wipe them away and sat down at the desk, taking parchment and pen and starting to write.

Mother—Father—

It's over! We've won. Loghain, and Anora with him, is in jail awaiting trial for treason, and Alistair will be crowned as the new King of Ferelden tomorrow morning, with our betrothal formally acknowledged by the Landsmeet.

You would think I would be overjoyed by all of this, but … none of you were there, which makes it all seem so hollow. Alistair was so thunderstruck that I haven't been able to share any of it with him yet, the triumph or the sorrow, and all I want is just one more minute with you to—

She broke off the letter when the door opened and Alistair came in.

His eyes went immediately to the pen in her hand. "I'm sorry, am I interrupting? I could come back."

But he didn't look like he wanted to come back; he looked like a man at the end of his rope who needed to get his thoughts off his chest right now or he might not be able to. "No, it's fine." Una put the pen down on top of the unfinished letter. "Are you all right?"

Alistair shook his head. "I'm not sure what that means. I'm … I never meant to be king, you know that. Never wanted to be. But—it seems inescapable. The country needs someone, and if Anora isn't that person, then I guess I am."

Una got up from her chair, but didn't approach him. He didn't seem ready for that. "I know you are."

"And I cling to that, I really do." He gave her a weary smile. "I just wish I knew it, too."

"Maybe if you knew it, you wouldn't be such a good candidate?" Una offered. "Look at what happened to Anora when she got complacent. Or, really, what happened to Ferelden."

"I suppose. So … what now?"

"You get a good night's sleep so you can look your best for the coronation tomorrow."

"Good night's sleep—what is that?" Alistair asked bitterly.

Una smiled in acknowledgement of the truth of the remark. "Something other people enjoy, or so I dimly recall. What's bothering you, Alistair?"

"What isn't? I'm about to become king, there's an Archdemon out there waiting to eat us, the Landsmeet, Loghain and Anora ..." He swallowed, then added, "You."

"What about me?"

"You know—you know I love you."

"Of course I do. There's a 'but' coming, though, isn't there?"

Alistair nodded. "It's just that … we've been over this before. One Grey Warden creating a child is hard enough. Two is … so close to impossible that it just— You know I never wanted to be king, but you've made me that now, and I want to be the best king I can, and I just … I just don't think it's responsible for a potentially barren king to marry a potentially barren woman."

That phrasing was like a punch to the gut—and to more personal organs that lay below the gut. Una put her hands there, protectively, and couldn't help imagining what it would be like to feel that part of her stomach rounding with life, with a child who would be theirs.

"I'm sorry," Alistair said miserably. "I just … all this mess was over Cailan dying without issue, and—"

"No, it wasn't."

"What? Of course it was!"

"No. It wasn't about Cailan dying without issue—it was about Cailan dying without an heir. Yes," Una said impatiently, "Theirin blood and all that, but if you'll recall, Cailan with his acknowledged Theirin blood was almost passed over in favor of my father after Maric disappeared. The Landsmeet is practical—they understand that blood is less important than competence. If Anora had done a half-decent job of managing the country after Cailan's death, we wouldn't be here right now. We wouldn't have needed to be here! But she didn't, and neither she nor Cailan nor Loghain ever appeared to consider the need to name an heir to the throne. It's that lack of forethought that led to all of this mess. My parents had it written down—if Fergus and Oren and I were all unable to inherit the teyrnir it went to … well, it went to Rendon Howe, so possibly not the best example. But the point is, they made a plan, Alistair! They didn't just assume they were going to live forever."

Alistair frowned at her. "So … you're saying, it doesn't matter if we never have children?"

"Of course it matters!" Una swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. "Not to mention that I very much want to have your children, Alistair, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to do that. But I'm not going to—I'm not going to watch you with another woman in order to secure the Theirin succession, and I'm not going to watch someone take the throne next to you who won't be as good for Thedas or for you as I will be." She crossed to him now, slipping her arms around his neck. "So we'll get married, and we'll make a plan for what happens if … if we don't make it through the Blight, and then we'll get started trying to make lots and lots of babies." Then, in his ear, she whispered softly, "Or we could do it in a different order and start trying right now."

"I tbought we'd been trying all this time," Alistair said. His arms came around her waist, holding her to him. "You know I love you, right?"

Una nodded. "I love you, too."

"I wouldn't want anyone else as my queen, at my side, or in my bed." His voice dipped huskily on the last words as he kissed her, lifting her in his arms and carrying her to the bed. They made love long into the night, doubly sweet because for the first time they were really thinking about what might come of it.

Across the room, Una's letter to her parents lay unfinished and forgotten.


	69. Blur

The next morning came too soon for Alistair. He fiddled with his armor and fussed with his hair and trimmed stray hairs from his beard until Una finally dragged him bodily away from the mirror.

“Trust me, love, you’re the best-looking king Ferelden’s ever had.”

“Did you meet Cailan?” he grumbled.

“Yes. Trust me, I’d rather have you any day.”

Reluctantly, he smiled at her. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me now, unless you want the country to fall completely to ruin.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

They left the room, finding Eamon pacing restlessly in the entry to the estate. Seeing him there, Una felt a sudden sharp longing for those cold, dirty camps along the side of the road and for their motley crew of companions. There hadn’t been a lot of time for their friends while they’d been here in Denerim, and Una missed them. It occurred to her that this was what it would probably be like when the Blight was over and the Archdemon was dead and she and Alistair settled in to become king and queen. Much as she looked forward to that future, hard as she had worked for it, she wished for a moment that it hadn’t come quite so quickly.

“There you are,” Eamon said with relief. He looked Alistair up and down with some relief, and then glanced at Una. “You look quite … martial, my dear. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather attend the coronation in … more suitable attire?”

“I can’t think of anything more suitable for a Grey Warden than armor, my lord, and for the moment, that is what I am, head of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden.”

“Very well. Fortunately, Fereldans like their warrior queens.” He smiled. “I recall your mother being quite formidable in her own right.” He looked at her seriously, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Your parents would be exceedingly proud of you.”

“Thank you, ser. I think they would be, too. I only regret that they can’t be here.”

“As do I.”

Unspoken between them was the acknowledgement that if the Couslands had still been alive, no doubt Bryce Cousland would be the one being crowned today. That reality had never come to pass, so Una felt there was no point in mourning it.

As they walked across Denerim, the people forming a line down the street to watch them pass, Eamon said, “Have the two of you given any thought to what you will do with Loghain and Anora?”

Una could see the tightening of Alistair’s mouth; she knew what his answer was. And she didn’t disagree—in a perfect world, she’d have happily had Loghain executed. But he was still the Hero of River Dane, and his daughter had been a beloved queen. They couldn’t afford to begin their reign with such a dark cloud over their heads. “I suspect the best answer is to banish them,” she said.

Eamon nodded, sighing. “I hate to see it come to that, but I believe you’re right. Keeping them locked up is a bad idea. Too much chance for unrest to build around them if they’re still here. Loghain won’t go pleasantly, no matter what we do. Anora might, if we can arrange a good marriage with a high-ranking noble. A Pentaghast, possibly. Maker knows there are a lot of them, and no shortage of intrigues that might get her close to another throne.”

Alistair looked at Eamon in surprise. Of course, this was the way it was among nobility—they married the politically expedient choice, not for love. His glance slid across Eamon’s face to Una’s, and he smiled, feeling vividly how fortunate he was to have her at his side. Maybe he should marry her today, he thought suddenly. That way, if something happened to him, she could still be queen. And they would be married, something he found he was no longer willing to wait for. He made a mental note to mention it to her later.

They stopped in front of the Landsmeet chamber. Alistair looked up at the doors in front of him, his mouth dry. Was it possible it was only yesterday that he had come here as a Grey Warden and a usurper, and today he was coming as king? It seemed like something out of a child’s tale.

“Ready?” Una asked him, squeezing his arm.

“As long as you’re with me.”

“Always.”

They entered the Landsmeet chamber. For Alistair, the whole thing was a blur. He walked where he was told to walk, stood where he was told to stand, repeated the words he was told to repeat. And at the end of it all, there was a crown on his head and he stood rather dazedly in front of his people. 

His people. He clung to those words. Those were real; those he could understand. He had met them all the way across Ferelden—in Lothering, in Redcliffe, in the Brecilian Forest, in the Frostbacks, at the Circle. They were looking to him now, and he would lead them to the best of his ability.

The blur separated itself into sharply delineated people, and he looked at them as closely as he dared, wanting to know who they all were so that he would know who to count on.

He had nearly forgotten Una. Turning, he smiled at her, beginning to say that it hadn’t been as bad as he’d thought it would be, but he realized halfway through the sentence that she wasn’t paying any attention to him. She was staring at a dark-haired man with a pronounced limp who was creating a bit of a commotion as he pushed his way through the crowd; Una looked as though she was seeing a ghost. Alistair was about to ask if she was all right when she suddenly gave a loud shriek and flung herself through the crowd and into the dark-haired man’s arms.

“FERGUS!”


	70. Brother

If Alistair had thought there was chaos at his coronation before the sudden appearance of Una’s brother, he had no word for what occurred afterward. It said much about Fergus himself and the Couslands as a whole that the Landsmeet immediately surrounded him with enthusiasm and affection and deep respect, asking question after question and not waiting for a response. It was fortunate that they didn’t, because Fergus and Una in the midst of it all had completely lost control and were weeping in each other’s arms, oblivious to anyone else. 

Alistair was overjoyed at the new arrival—he knew better than anyone what Una’s family meant to her and how much it would mean to have her brother back … but he felt shy, as well. King he might be, but that was just today; at heart, he was still a bastard, raised in a stable. Would Una’s brother truly think him an acceptable spouse for his sister?

At last, Alistair decided he couldn’t let the uproar continue any further, and as King, it was his duty to bring it to an end. “My lords and ladies,” he called. “Early as it is in the day, it’s already been fairly momentous for all of us. I’d like to ask your indulgence so that my fiancee can have some time in privacy to spend with her brother. We all welcome Teyrn Cousland back, but I think he and his sister have much to talk about before either of them are ready to share their experiences with the rest of us.”

There were nods and murmurs of agreement, and a tear-stained glance of gratitude from Una over her brother’s shoulder, and the Landsmeet stepped aside to let them through, Fergus and Una still clinging to each other, arms around each other’s waists. Neither of them had said a word since Una’s shriek of her brother’s name. 

Alistair followed them through the crowd, hoping that Eamon would have the good sense to hang back with the rest. He glanced over his shoulder at the older man, who nodded briefly, deep in conversation with a man Alistair dimly recognized as a Bann from somewhere in the south.

Back at Eamon’s, Alistair made hasty introductions of Fergus to the rest of the team. Una’s brother looked a little overwhelmed by the day’s events, and so, with promises to their companions to explain as soon as he could, Alistair ushered Una and Fergus off to the room he and Una shared. He stayed with them, because—well, because this was his intended bride, and if there was going to be any objection from her last remaining family member, he wanted to be there to refute it.

Once the door had closed behind them, Una and Fergus embraced fiercely once more, then each took a step back to study the other one’s face.

“Little sister, what have you been doing to yourself?” Fergus murmured, tracing a scar that ran along Una’s jaw.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Fergus was covered in scars; Una could see one on his neck, one that sliced through an eyebrow, one especially thick one that ran across his forehead and up into his hairline.

“Darkspawn,” he said simply, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

“Same here. Fergus … you know about—” She stopped as his eyes snapped open again, blazing. “You know,” she finished sorrowfully. Tears rolled afresh down her cheeks. “Fergus, I’m so sorry—I was too late. They took us by surprise, and I couldn’t get there—it was all over by the time I knew … I’m so sorry!”

“Tell me,” he said hoarsely. “Tell me everything.”

“Howe’s men; they came right after you left. They waited until late in the night when everyone had gone to bed. Howe stabbed Father and left him for dead; his men raided the family quarters. They—they went for your rooms first. Grenli woke me, but by … by the time …” Her voice failed her, sobs taking over as she relived the horrors of that night.

Fergus drew her close again, looking at Alistair over her shoulder. 

Recognizing the question in the other man’s eyes, Alistair took up the story. “She told me that she and your mother fought their way to the pantry, to the secret entrance there, but your father was too grievously wounded to be moved, and your mother chose to stay behind and defend him with her own life. Duncan was there, and he offered to take Una to safety if he could conscript her for the Wardens.”

“That bastard,” Fergus muttered. “Taking advantage of such a situation.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Una managed to say. “He didn’t mean it that way; he only meant that was the best way to keep me safe. And he needed as many Wardens as he could get—more than he knew at the time, even.”

“Still.” Fergus frowned, looking at his sister. “What did Mother think?”

“She wanted me to go. She wanted me to live at any cost, to carry on the family.” She glanced at Alistair, her cheeks reddening, both of them thinking about the difficulty they expected to encounter in creating a child. “Becoming a Grey Warden wouldn’t have been her idea, but I think Father liked it.”

“He would.”

Una smiled. “Yes.” She thought about talking to Fergus about the letters she had written their parents, about her idea that they had been answering her, but they had been apart so long—what if he thought she was crazy? “Where have you been all this time, Fergus? I looked for you after Ostagar, and when we went back to the battlefield. I thought you were—I thought I was alone.” Her throat closed in a sob, and Alistair reached for her hand, his own closing around it, warm and protective.

Fergus watched them both, his face set and unreadable. “Not too alone, I see.”

“I’m sorry, you two haven’t been introduced. Fergus, this is—“

“Alistair Theirin. My liege lord, so I understand.”

“Apparently.” Alistair shrugged. “That was her idea,” he said, nodding at Una. “I’d have left Anora on the throne, personally.”

“Would you.” The dark eyes, so different from his sister’s, studied Alistair thoughtfully. “And where have you been all this time? I thought Cailan was Maric’s only child.”

“That was what you were supposed to think. Arl Eamon raised me.”

“He kept Alistair in the stables, is what he means,” Una broke in hotly. “And when he was old enough, consigned him to the Chantry. Not much of a fostering for the son of a king, if you ask me.”

Fergus raised his eyebrows. “Seems to have worked out all right.” He looked back and forth between them. “I was a little shocked to arrive in Denerim and find out my little sister’s about to be the queen. I know that’s what Mother wanted, but—“

“I know what you’re asking,” Una said, her voice softening. “And I would marry Alistair regardless. Queen or Warden or peasant in the middle of the Wilds.” She held Alistair’s hand more tightly.

Her brother nodded. There was a gleam in his eyes that looked like unshed tears, and he turned away from them, covering his face.

“Fergus.” Una put her hand on his shoulder. “I wish … I wish I’d had you with me, all across Ferelden.”

He chuckled. “I think you’ve done fine on your own, sis. If even half the stories I’ve heard come close to the truth … But I wish I’d been with you, too.” He turned back to them, one hand going to the scar on his forehead. “Just before Ostagar, from what I can gather, my patrol was ambushed by darkspawn. I was discovered by a Chasind clan, who brought me to their village and nursed me back to health. The blow on the head … I didn’t remember who I was for the longest time. When I finally remembered—all I could think of was getting home. Imagine my shock when I stumbled out of the Wilds at last and found southern Ferelden Blighted so completely … and then when I finally met someone who knew what had happened … I went to pieces. I came to in a Chantry not far from Redcliffe, but—thinking about … about … them … I couldn’t get out of bed. Everything seemed a blur.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Una. To have left you to do all that work yourself while I sank into the depths of my grief.”

“And you had every right to do so,” she hastened to assure him. “I had friends. Lots of very good friends, who helped me more than I can possibly say. And I had Alistair. But now—Fergus, we need you now. You know more about these political pitfalls than either of us.”

“Which isn’t saying much,” Alistair said ruefully, grinning just a little.\

Fergus cracked the first smile Alistair had seen on his face so far. “Una knows more than she lets on; she always did. Little tagalong,” he said affectionately to her. “But I’ll help in whatever way I can.”

“Actually, there is something I want to talk to you about,” Alistair said, determination filling him suddenly. “Love, can you give us a few moments alone?”

Una looked between them and nodded. It would be good for them to talk. She didn’t want to miss a moment with Fergus, but suddenly having family again after such a long time thinking she was entirely without it … well, a few minutes alone to contemplate that miracle couldn’t hurt. “Of course. I’ll see you both later?”

They both smiled and nodded, watching her fondly as she left the room.

When the door closed behind her, Fergus looked at Alistair, waiting patiently for him to speak.

Words often came slowly to Alistair, sensible words, at least, but as king he knew he wouldn’t have the luxury of fumbling about for them any longer, and he might as well start now saying what he meant firmly and clearly. “I want to marry your sister.”

“So I gathered from the results of the Landsmeet. I wish I had been there.”

“We would have wished you were there, too, if we’d known you were still alive.”

“If the rumors had been clearer … they kept saying the female Warden was from Highever, and one or two people said she was the daughter of the Teyrn, but no one could agree.” Fergus smiled. “Someone said she was the Teyrna, and I wasn’t sure which sounded more likely, my mother telling the rest of the country how to run itself or my sister taking it by storm. Either one seemed too much to hope for, though, and I got so used to thinking of them all as gone—I was afraid to believe the rumors and lose them all over again.” He looked at Alistair, some of the suspicion gone from his eyes. “But that wasn’t what you wanted to talk about.”

“No. I wanted—well, you’re her brother. I want … your blessing.”

Fergus smiled. “Seeing the way she looks at you? If I didn’t give you my blessing, she’d take it out of my hide.”

“Yes, but—“

“You want to know if I approve.”

“Right.”

“I have to say I do. This is all new to me—until yesterday I wasn’t certain I still had a sister, and now I find I have a king, too, and a wedding to attend—but the two of you have done a lot together, and I think you can do a lot more. You love her?”

“With all my heart.”

“Then marry her. And Alistair?”

“Yes?”

“Marry her now. Don’t wait. Don’t let a minute go by without using it to the utmost extent you can.”

Alistair nodded, determined. “That was my idea, too. Can we talk about a plan?” They put their heads together, finding as they talked that they shared a similar sense of humor and similar goals, and by the time they had settled everything, they were fast friends.


	71. Ceremony

Alistair found Una in the dining room, sitting over a long-cooled cup of tea, staring at the walls.

“I think they’re gone,” she said softly as he came in.

“Your parents?”

She nodded. 

Alistair sat down next to her, reaching for her hand. “You think they were just waiting until you and Fergus could be reunited?”

“Maybe. Maybe so.” Una smiled. “Maybe they think he can keep an eye on me now.”

“Or that you can both keep an eye on each other. Your brother’s been through a lot, too. He’s going to need you.”

Una frowned. “I’m … not used to thinking of Fergus that way. He was always—just my big brother, you know?”

“Yes.” Alistair thought of Arl Eamon, who he had thought of as being as close to a father as he was ever going to have … and now was looking at as nothing more than a man, like any other. It was a strange adjustment to be making.

“What did you and my brother talk about?” Una asked.

“You.”

She grinned. “Naturally. Did he tell you all sorts of horrible stories?”

“A couple.” Alistair grinned back. “You really were a great deal of trouble, weren’t you?”

“So they tell me.”

“Listen, I have a question for you.”

“All right.” Una waited, raising an eyebrow, wondering what had him so serious all of a sudden.

Alistair got down on one knee next to her chair, reaching for her hand. “Will you marry me?”

She frowned at him, confused. “I thought I already agreed to that.”

“Well … I don’t think I ever asked you formally before.”

“Oh. In that case, yes. Definitely yes!”

“Good.”

“Did Fergus give you his blessing?”

“Yes, but that’s not what this is about, not really.”

“Then what?”

“I want to marry you tonight, Una. I don’t want to wait until after … everything.”

“But we can never get that all put together, not so soon!”

“Not … not the big wedding, not for the Landsmeet or the country or anything. Just … for us, so that … so that we know. And so that … in case anything should—happen—I want it to be official, that you are my wife. For the succession.”

“Oh. I … suppose I hadn’t really considered that. I mean, I’ve felt as though—that moment in the Temple of Sacred Ashes, in front of Andraste …”

“Yes. I felt that, too.” Alistair’s hand closed more firmly around hers, both of them thinking back to the silence of the Temple and the presence of Andraste, whether it had been real or imagined. “But—I want to think ahead and cover all the bases, you know?”

“Was this Fergus’s idea?”

“Partly, yes. He urged me not to waste any time. But I’ve been thinking it, too. Marry me, Una. Tonight. Please.”

She took his face between her hands. “Of course I will. A thousand times over, if you want me to.” 

Alistair breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t realized how unsure he was of what her reaction would be until just now. “Just us, and Fergus, and our friends. No one else.”

Una’s eyes were shining with unshed tears. “It sounds perfect.” She bit her lip, looking uncertain. “Do you—do you mind if I wear my armor? I’ve—I know when we do this for real it’ll have to be one of those fancy dresses, but this is me, and I …”

“I’m marrying you, remember? You wear whatever makes you feel most comfortable.”

“I love you, Alistair.” She put her arms around him, holding him tight.

“And I you.”

There was a flurry of preparation that afternoon, carried out very quietly. Leliana took care of finding a discreet Revered Mother who would perform the ceremony; Fergus and Wynne—and Grenli, who after the initial frenzy of welcoming Fergus back refused to leave his side—opened up a couple of rooms in the Couslands’ Denerim estate and got them cleaned up. Oghren and Zev dealt with food for the modest feast to follow. Morrigan refused to take part in the preparations, although she agreed to attend the ceremony with the rest of them.

At last the moment arrived. Una blessed Fergus for opening their house for the occasion; while they had never spent as much time in Denerim as they had at Highever Castle, it was still so good to feel the familiar walls around her and see the familiar pictures in the small Chantry at the back of the estate. She walked on Fergus’s arm to Alistair’s side, happy beyond belief to have her beloved brother alive and here with her, and to have him be the one putting her hand in Alistair’s.

Alistair was pleased, as well. Something in his heart that had never been entirely certain that he was good enough for her was settled in the moment when Fergus placed Una’s hand in his. The smile on Fergus’s face, the shine of tears in his eyes were proof enough that Una’s remaining family approved, and if he did, her parents must. 

Mother Rhea smiled at both of them. She was young, new to the robes of Revered Motherhood. Leliana had told them that this was her first wedding. “If everyone is ready?”

Alistair and Una nodded together. They followed Mother Rhea’s lead through the vows and promises of the wedding ceremony, their voices hoarsening with emotion as the ceremony went on. 

At last, Mother Rhea clapped her hands, looking as though she might start jumping up and down with joy any minute. “It is my very great pleasure to pronounce you man and wife in the sight of the Maker and His Bride. Oh, Your Majesty, such a blessed day!”

Everyone laughed at her enthusiasm, and Alistair pressed a purse of gold pieces into her hand. “Thank you, Mother. When—when this is all over, we may be needing your services again. I believe the palace has its own chapel.”

There was a moment of silence as Leliana, Una, and Mother Rhea all stared at him and it occurred to him that perhaps the appointment of the royal Revered Mother was more political than he’d given thought to it being. But this woman seemed nice, and sympathetic, and enthusiastic. He didn’t see why they couldn’t be surrounded by people who were pleasant to be around. 

The moment was broken by Oghren’s bray of “Good on ya, nug-licker!” and the general laugh that followed.

The feast was filled with more laughter, even Morrigan deigning to be at her least chilly, although Una occasionally caught the witch watching Alistair with a speculative gaze that filled her with disquiet. 

Alistair glanced over at her, his look questioning, and she mustered a smile for him, putting away her sense of something off about the witch, and soon was drawn into a noisy argument with Fergus over who had been drunker at his wedding, Fergus himself or their father. Oghren told a very off-color joke that had even Fergus blushing, and then Zev told a long story about an assassination gone awry. Una couldn’t help noticing the peace in Leliana’s eyes as she sat next to the elf, and the way Zev’s gaze kept seeking the bard’s lovely face.

Wynne joined in with stories of the tower, and the night passed in joy and revelry that almost made Una forget that the horde still lay before them, and the Archdemon.

At last, she and Alistair were alone in the room that had been hers growing up, and was now theirs. Leliana had outdone herself with candles, and rose petals, and a tray of fine cheeses with grapes and crackers, knowing their Warden appetites as she did.

Alistair slid his arms around Una’s waist and pulled her against him. “My wife,” he said softly.

“Yours entirely,” she agreed. “What will you do with me?”

He grinned, kissing her neck just below the ear and moving down across the sensitive skin. “I have some ideas.”

“Mm. I think I like them,” she said, tilting her neck to the side to encourage him to keep going. Tomorrow would be soon enough to worry about the horde again—tonight was her wedding night, and she intended to enjoy every moment of it.


	72. Revisited

The following morning they were up early, packing up their things. Familiar as their worn packs were, they had been in Denerim for so long—and so many things had happened while they'd been there—that it felt strange to Una to think about being back on the road again.

Alistair seemed ready to go. He was quiet this morning, and thoughtful.

"Copper for your thoughts?" Una asked him.

"What?" He looked at her, clearly startled out of long thoughts. "Oh. Last night's nightmare. Just—I want this over with. The Archdemon …"

Una nodded. Her nightmares were worsening as the Blight went on as well. "Let's go, then. The sooner we leave, the sooner we reach the horde."

Riordan had sent missives on his way south, following the path of the horde. His last one suggested that they were massing near Lothering and would be going on to Redcliffe. Una had directed the forces pledged to her to meet them there, and now it was high time she and Alistair and their team were on their way as well.

Most of their companions were waiting in the courtyard when they came downstairs; the only one missing was Oghren, who staggered out a few minutes later, glaring at the sun.

Arl Eamon was there to see them off, and Fergus, who had a pack over his shoulder.

"What do you think you're doing?" Una asked him.

"Going with you. You're going to need as many men as you can get."

"No."

"Excuse me?" His eyebrows flew up.

"You heard me. You're—you—I thought you were dead. I'm not leading you into battle and having that nightmare come true. Especially not against darkspawn. You were lucky to escape the taint the first time."

Fergus looked to Alistair. "Are you going to let her do this?"

Alistair nodded. "She makes a good point. Besides, if—should something happen to both of us … well, someone's going to need to take the throne."

Arl Eamon looked between them. "Are you … my dear boy, are you making a formal declaration?"

"Yes. Should I fall, Una Cousland is to be next in line of succession, and after her, her brother Fergus Cousland."

Fergus looked almost as stunned as Eamon. "In that case, Your Majesty, let me send along with you my heartfelt wishes for your safe return." He smiled and Alistair chuckled. Then, more seriously, Fergus said, "And you take care of my sister. She's all I have left."

"Same here." Alistair reached for his brother-in-law's hand, shaking it firmly. "I'll do my best."

"Good. Maker be with you." Fergus turned to his sister, taking her in his arms, holding her tightly. "Come home safe, pup. I can't lose you again."

"I promise." With some difficulty, Una pulled herself away from her brother, looking around at their companions. "We ready?"

Their assent was unanimous, and made her feel almost as though she was really ready to go into battle. With all of them with her, how could she not be?

Fergus knelt next to Grenli, hugging the dog, who licked his face eagerly.

Una looked at the two of them together. "Gren."

He woofed questioningly.

"You stay here, keep Fergus safe."

Both man and dog protested, but Una stood firm. Grenli had been through so many battles already—she wanted him safe in Denerim for this one. And that way, if anything happened to her, they would have each other.

So it was that they both stood watching as she led her team out the gates of Denerim and on the road to Redcliffe and their final battle with the Archdemon.

Wynne lagged behind by a bit, and Alistair and Oghren both stayed back with her. The mage's energy was flagging, and for a moment Una wished she had left Wynne in Denerim, as well. But they would need her healing when they went against the horde, and so all Una could do was hope that the spirit sustaining the mage would stay strong until the final battle was over.

Zevran and Morrigan walked ahead, having a reasonably civil and innuendo-free discussion of recipes for poisons and which plants were best. So Una found herself walking with Leliana.

"How was your wedding night, my friend?" the bard asked.

"Magical."

"Good. You deserved that happiness, however fleeting."

Una glanced over at her friend, seeing that the light that usually warmed Leliana's face was absent today. "That's a gloomy view."

"Is it? I am sorry. I am feeling a bit … dark."

"Because of the Archdemon?"

"Because this all seems to be ending." Leliana gestured around at the group of them. "And I must determine my future course."

"There's always a home for you where I am," Una assured her. "I could make you court minstrel."

Leliana smiled. "That is a lovely gesture, my friend. But … these past months, we have done important work. We have fought, we have gathered armies, we have altered the future. I do not know if I can easily settle down into a life of anything less."

"And … Zev?" Una asked softly.

"He has his own goal—he intends to take down the Crows."

"An impressively difficult task. That's not big enough for you?"

"Oh, it would be, but … that is his to do. It is not mine. And I would be more likely to be an encumbrance moving in that world than an asset. To take down the Crows, one must be a Crow, and while my skills are similar, I am not a Crow."

Una frowned. Leliana was probably right, but it was less than Una had hoped for her friends' future. "Maybe—maybe we should get through the battles and kill the Archdemon before we worry too much about what to do afterward."

"Perhaps you are right."

"What does the Maker tell you?"

Leliana looked up thoughtfully. "To preserve the beauty of His world."

"Then let's do that; let's rid this land of the taint that threatens it."

"Yes. Thank you, my friend. You always know the right things to say."

"Well, I don't know about that," Una said, "but I do know I'm glad to have you with me."

"To the end," Leliana promised her.

The birds sang in the trees, the sun shone, and the fields they passed were bright with growing crops. It hardly seemed like the end of the world they were marching toward, but Una knew that as they walked, the birds would disappear, the sun vanish into clouds, and the fields grow black with dead things. And only she and Alistair, and Riordan, could stop all that death from spreading.

They arrived at Redcliffe in the middle of a storm, thunder rolling heavy above their heads.

Redcliffe had been savaged again. Una and Alistair exchanged despairing glances—for all the work that had been done after the walking dead had been eradicated, Redcliffe looked the same now as it had then. Worse, even. At least the walking dead hadn't left taint behind everywhere. The clean-up itself was likely to prove deadly to some.

Rain splattered the ground, mingling the red of blood with the black of taint. It made Alistair want to vomit, at the same time as it filled him with a near-desperation to stop all of this before this land—his land—could be ruined any further by these things that came from the ground.

As they walked along the edge of the lake, checking the bodies they found for any signs of life, a man's head appeared peeking out from behind a boat. When he recognized them, he hurried out of the water.

"Thank the Maker you've come, Wardens!"

"How long ago did the darkspawn arrive?" Una asked him.

"This morning. They—they did all this in just a few hours." He was shivering, the long time in the water having taken its toll on him. "Fortunately that other Warden—"

"Riordan?" Alistair asked.

The man looked blank. "Maybe? He showed up late last night, convinced most people to evacuate to the castle. Some of us stayed behind. Foolish, I suppose."

Una didn't bother to confirm his foolishness; he knew well enough, and might well pay for it, too, given all the taint around them.

"Are there darkspawn at the castle?" Alistair asked.

"By now, they must be."

Una tried to listen for sounds of battle, but anything she might have heard was drowned by the thunder.

Wynne took the man by the arm, using a warming spell to dispel the effects of his long stay in the lake, and led him to the Chantry. The doors were hanging open, sagging on their hinges, but the building was still standing, and there was no evidence of taint inside it. "Stay here until someone comes back for you." She gave him some food from her pack and patted him reassuringly on the shoulder before leaving him.

They hurried up the hills from the town toward the castle, slipping in the mud as they went. All along their way was evidence that the horde had been through, in the bodies and the blackened muck they lay in. The gates of the castle had been knocked down and trampled, but inside the courtyard it was plain that the castle's defenders had prevailed, although they had clearly paid dearly in the effort.

"Halt!" came a shout from the stairs. "Who goes there?"

"The Grey Wardens!" Una shouted back.

"At last!" A soldier came down the stairs toward them. "We have been awaiting your arrival. Your comrade, Riordan, came just before the horde. Without him … I do not know that we could have succeeded."

Una breathed a sigh of relief. "Does he have news about the horde?"

"He has news, although I do not know what it is. They are waiting for you in the hall, ser."

"Thank you."

Una and Alistair took the steps two at a time, the others following. Inside it was a relief to be dry, and to have the heavy walls and roofs of the castle between them and the storm.

Riordan came to meet them. "It is a relief to see you both." He bowed. "Your Majesty."

"Please, not that. Never between us," Alistair said. "I'm a Grey Warden, like any other."

"Perhaps. For now." Riordan turned to Una. "I had thought the horde would be here, but the darkspawn that attacked the town and castle were relatively few."

Una had noticed that; she had seen the size of the horde at Ostagar, and this wasn't even close. She had been hoping there were more somewhere else. Her heart sank at Riordan's words. "Then where are they?"

"I believe the bulk of the horde is on its way to Denerim. And the Archdemon flies at its head."

"Denerim!" Una thought immediately of Fergus. And Grenli. She had left them there to keep them safe! "But … we didn't pass them on the way here. Surely we would have had to."

"Did you come from the north, or from the east?"

"From the east."

"I believe the horde went north first," Riordan said. "I am sorry."

"We need to leave, then, immediately!" Una said.

Ser Perth came forward now, ducking his head a bit in an effort not to seem as if he were trying to interrupt. "I could not help but overhear. I don't believe the armies can move in this rain, and it would be difficult to mobilize them so quickly. By daybreak, the storm should have eased and everything can be in readiness."

"Then let's get them ready," Alistair said. "We can't let all those people die without giving them a chance."

"What if we left now, ahead of the army?" Una asked. She didn't look back at her companions; she knew that as little as they might want to venture back out into the storm on a hurried march, they would do it if it needed to be done.

But Riordan was shaking his head. "To reach the Archdemon, we need to break through the horde. In order to do that, we must have the armies." At Una's crestfallen look, he smiled a little in sympathy. "It does no good for us to throw our lives away and fail to kill the dragon. Only in that way can the Blight be ended."

Una nodded, reluctantly. "I understand." She looked at Perth. "Can you notify the armies and get them ready to move at first light?"

"I can."

"Thank you."

Riordan looked at Una and Alistair. There was something in his eyes that she couldn't read. "Will the two of you join me in my quarters once you have dried off and had a meal? There is … Grey Warden business we must discuss."

"Of course," Alistair said.

Una had turned to the others, to make sure they were all also going to have a chance to eat and rest, and she surprised a sharp, speculative look in Morrigan's eyes as they rested on Alistair. "What?" she snapped, goaded at last into the question. There had been too many of those looks, and in her fear for Fergus and for Grenli, she no longer had the patience to let them go by.

Morrigan raised her eyebrows. "Nothing. I am merely considering the inconvenience of another long march." Her eyes met Una's squarely, almost as if she was trying to tell her something, but Una was too agitated to read the message there. She nodded sharply at Morrigan and turned to follow Alistair to their room.


	73. News

Alistair and Una unpacked only a few things, since they wouldn’t be staying long. A tray was brought up and they devoured its contents as only nervous Grey Wardens could. But at last they couldn’t put it off any longer—it was time to go see Riordan and learn what he had to tell them.

“Maybe it won’t be bad,” Alistair said optimistically as they left their room.

“Right. Because everything else about being a Grey Warden is a barrel of sunshine,” Una said. She thought of the taint, the trouble having children, the thirty years, the feeling of darkspawn in her blood … if her parents had known any of that, would they have preferred to let her die with them? She would never know. And what did it matter, anyway? She was here now, and she was who she was. All the speculating in the world would never change that.

And looking at Alistair, she knew she wouldn’t have wanted it to. He was worth it. Being his wife was more than worth it. She was so glad he and Fergus had insisted on the private ceremony before they left Denerim. No matter what happened, they were husband and wife now, irrevocably.

They stopped together in front of Riordan’s door. Alistair raised his hand, but before he could knock, they heard Riordan say, “Enter.”

Inside the room, Riordan greeted them with an easy smile. He handed them glasses of a golden liquid. 

Una looked at hers with suspicion. “What is this?”

“Wine.” He chuckled. “Wine, and nothing more. I thought it more … pleasant to be discussing the attack on the Archdemon with a glass of a fine vintage. A celebration, if you will, of having come so far, and a toast to good fortune when we join battle.”

She sipped it gingerly. It was very good, but she was too keyed up to be particularly appreciative of the flavor.

Riordan leaned a hip on the edge of a table, taking a long drink of his own wine. “I imagine, given how new both of you are to the Order, that you have not been told how an Archdemon is slain?” He looked from one to the other of them as they shook their heads. “I thought not.”

“You mean there’s more to it than just chopping off its head?” Alistair asked. His own wine was untouched; clearly he was as little interested in taking this casually as Una was.

“Have you never wondered why the Grey Wardens are needed to defeat the darkspawn?” Riordan asked.

“We’ve been a bit too busy actually defeating them to spend a lot of time wondering why,” Una said. She put her wineglass down, not liking the tenor of this at all. She and Alistair had done all the fighting so far; she did not appreciate being talked down to like a child. It was no fault of theirs that no one had told them anything.

Alistair said, “I assumed it had to do with the taint.”

“That is exactly what it involves.” Riordan nodded at Alistair as if he were a prize student with a correct answer. “The Archdemon may be slain by anyone, as any other darkspawn may be … but should any other than a Grey Warden take the final, fatal blow, the Archdemon’s essence will seek out the nearest darkspawn and rise again.”

Una and Alistair looked swiftly at one another, shocked. Una couldn’t help but imagine the scene on a battlefield, everyone rejoicing at the slain Archdemon, as it rose again above their unsuspecting heads. It was horrific.

“Yes,” Riordan said sadly. “The Archdemon is all but immortal.”

“But that’s where we come in, right?” Alistair asked.

“That is right. You see, if it is a Grey Warden who takes the final blow, the essence of the Archdemon passes into the Grey Warden.”

Una felt repulsed by the very idea. “What happens to the Warden?” she asked.

The answer was in Riordan’s weary, resigned eyes before he put it into words. “The darkspawn is an empty, souulless vessel. The Grey Warden is not. The essence of the Archdemon is destroyed … and so is the Grey Warden.”

This time, she could not look at Alistair. They knew, of course, that either of them could be cut down in battle at any time; they had learned to live with that. But to know that in order to end the Blight, one of the three people in this room must give their life …

As if he could read what was in their minds, Riordan said gently, “As the eldest among us, and the one who has been tainted the longest, it is for me to take that final blow. Without the Archdemon, the Blight ends—that is worth my life, and more.” He smiled suddenly. “And my name will live on in history, along with that of Garahel. Not a bad price for a single life that is nearing its end anyway.” The smile faded, and he fixed them each with a searching look. “But if I fail, the deed falls on you. If the Blight is not stopped now, it will destroy all of Ferelden.”

_Be allowed to destroy it_ , Una thought bitterly. The Wardens of the rest of Thedas would simply let Ferelden fall, as they had tried to do already, before lifting a finger.

Riordan said, “Before you leave this room, I must be certain that both of you are prepared to sacrifice yourself—or one another—in case I cannot.”

Alistair’s eyes sought Una’s. He could see in the stiffening of her back and the dauntless look on her face that she was ready to take the blow herself, but the defiance in her eyes said she wasn’t ready to see him do it. Well, he felt the same. He imagined there would be some arguments later tonight. 

Whether Riordan was as adept at reading them as they were each other was hard to say. After studying both the young faces before him for a few silent moments, he nodded. “Good.” He got up, moving toward the door and opening it for them. “We will have a long journey tomorrow and little enough time to rest before it. I will bid you both a good night.”

They both bid him a good night and left. As they made their way back to their own room, Alistair said, “I guess this ends soon. One way or another.”

“I’ll do it, Alistair. You’re the king; we went through too much to get you there to let you … I’ll do it,” Una repeated.

“No. You won’t.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, shocked by the cold, uncompromising hardness of his tone.

Alistair turned to her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “I mean that there is no way on this earth that I am going to let you do that, if I have to lock you in a room before the battle. Do you hear me?”

“But, Alistair …”

“No. I love you, Una, and …” He looked down her body, and one of his hands moved to rest lightly on her abdomen. “And we don’t know if, just maybe, you are already carrying our child. We won’t know for certain before the battle. And if there’s even the faintest chance …” He shook his head. “It is Riordan’s right to take the blow if he can, and if he can’t, then it is my responsibility. And that is final.”

Una could feel tears welling up in her eyes. How could she argue with that? He was right; there was no way to know for sure. Could she take that blow, knowing it meant her death, if there was even a chance it might mean the death of a child as well? But that meant she would have to let Alistair do it. Alistair, whom she loved with all her heart and soul. She put her arms around his neck, holding on to him, feeling the warmth of his body against hers. “Take me to bed, Alistair.”

“Your desire is my command.”


	74. Loophole

But the evening was not to be quite so simple as Una and Alistair had hoped, as they discovered when they entered their room and saw Morrigan standing there in front of their fire.

“Do not be alarmed,” she said, turning toward them as they entered. “It is only I.”

“And that’s not alarming?” Alistair asked.

“What should alarm you is your own peril, or that of your lover.”

“Mine,” Alistair said firmly.

“Yours, then. It makes little difference. You see, I have a plan. The loop in your hole.”

“You’re talking about what Riordan told us,” Una said. “How could you know about that?”

“She’s a witch.” Alistair was glaring at Morrigan.

“Yes, I know what happens when the Archdemon dies. I have always known; Flemeth told me. And I have come to tell you that this does not need to be.”

Una felt a leap in her pulse. A way to keep Alistair from dying in the final battle with the Archdemon? But Alistair, next to her, had his hands clenched. He would be suspicious of anything that came from Morrigan, would fight against it no matter how innocuous … and knowing Morrigan, it would be anything but innocuous. “Tell me,” she said, her voice firm enough to keep Alistair from protesting, at least for now.

“It is a ritual, performed in the dark of night.”

“Of course it is,” Alistair muttered, subsiding only when Una shot him a quelling look.

Morrigan ignored him, her eyes fixed on Una. “It is old magic, from a time before the Circle of Magi was created.”

“Blood magic?” Alistair asked sharply.

“Some might call it that, yes, but that is no more than a name. There is far more to fear in this world than names. Surely even you recognize that?” Morrigan’s eyes rested coolly on him, and he frowned, crossing the room to sit on the edge of a table, his arms folded over his chest, looking disapproving.

“Is this why you’re here?” Una asked.

“In part, yes. It was what Flemeth had in mind when she sent me with you.”

“And what does this ritual entail? Do we dance naked in the moonlight?” Alistair asked. His voice was heavy with sarcasm, but the suggestion brought back all of Una’s insecurities. The tension had crackled between these two since the beginning, something she didn’t understand and had always been vaguely afraid of.

“Very close.” A small smile played over Morrigan’s mouth as her eyes moved across Alistair’s broad shoulders. “You will lay with me, here, tonight. From this ritual, a child shall be conceived.”

Una barely heard Alistair’s shouts of disgust, barely registered how overdone they sounded, because her stomach was clenching with nausea. Lay with her? Alistair? And create a child? To save his life, she had to give away that which was most precious—their intimacy, the knowledge that she was the only woman he had ever been with, the chance of creating a child together lost to Morrigan … or at the very least given to Morrigan first. She fought against tears, trying to listen as Morrigan kept speaking.

“The child will bear the taint,” Morrigan continued calmly, ignoring Alistair’s anger and Una’s distress equally. “When the Archdemon is slain, its essence will seek the child like a beacon.”

“What type of monster are you intending to create?” Alistair asked in a horrified whisper.

“No monster. At the early stage, the child can absorb the essence of the Old God and not perish; the Archdemon will be destroyed, and no Grey Warden need die in the process. The child will be born with the soul of an Old God.” Morrigan’s eyes shone at the idea.

“And then what?” Alistair had moved farther into the room, staring at Morrigan as though he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“And then you allow me to walk away. You have my word that you will never see me or the child again; I have yours that you will not follow. Not ever. The child must be mine to raise as I wish.”

“No!” Alistair cried. “I can’t create an orphan, a bastard such as I was.”

“The child will not be such as you were,” Morrigan said. “It will have me, and I shall be more than equal to the tasks of father and mother both.”

“Still,” he whispered, “to turn my back on my own blood, to let a child of mine go knowing I will never see it …”

Una put her hands to her head. The choice seemed impossible. To ask Alistair to do something so foreign to everything that was important to him; to risk whatever the result might be of creating this Old God child and entrusting it to Morrigan; or to let him die and face a lifetime without him.

Alistair, stricken, turned to her. “We’re not considering this. Please tell me we’re not considering this.”

It wasn’t a ‘no’, Una realized. He wasn’t putting his foot down, he wasn’t making a decision. As so many times before, he was leaving it up to her. She could save his life, but at what cost to his self-image, at what cost to their relationship? Would he be able to look on her the same way again if she forced this decision on her?

“What will the child become?” Una asked.

“It is the essence of the Old God I seek, not the dark forces that corrupted it.”

“An Old God still would possess incredible power,” Alistair said. “What will you do with it?”

“Nothing that need concern you.”

“I wish to the Maker I believed that.”

“Some things are worth preserving in this world,” Morrigan said softly. “Make of that what you will.”

“Can’t Riordan do it?” Una asked desperately.

“No. He has been tainted for too long. It must be Alistair, and it must be tonight.”

“You actually think I would ever agree to this?” Alistair asked.

Morrigan’s eyes met Una’s. They both knew that Una could talk him into it if she agreed … but did she agree?

“I can sweeten the agreement, if you wish,” Morrigan said. “As you know, I can change my shape to that of a raven. A raven can fly much faster than an army can march … perhaps fast enough to warn those in Denerim of their imminent peril.”

_Fergus_ , Una thought. Fergus, left there in Denerim, at the mercy of the oncoming horde.

“No,” Alistair said. “No, you can’t do that to her.”

“I am not doing it to her. I am doing it for her.” Morrigan kept her eyes on Una’s face.

“You can’t bargain with her brother’s life!”

“I am not. I am offering a boon if my request is agreed to. It is you who would be bargaining with her brother’s life should you refuse.”

“She hasn’t said she wanted to do it!”

“She has not said she does not wish to, either.”

“What else?” Una said abruptly.

Morrigan’s eyebrows flew up. “Your life, the life of your lover, and the life of your brother and your beloved beast—these are not enough for you?”

“No. They’re not.”

“Wait, we’re not actually considering this, are we?” Alistair asked.

Una ignored him. “You can create a baby with this ritual?”

“I can.”

“Can you do it again?”

“What do you … ah.” Morrigan’s voice trailed off. “You want a child.”

“Yes.”

“And you are both tainted, which will make it quite difficult.”

“Yes. Can you do it again?” Una asked insistently.

Morrigan looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. “It is possible.”

“She’s lying to you! She’ll tell you anything she thinks you want to hear to get you to agree!”

Una couldn’t deny that Alistair could be right. She looked at Morrigan challengingly.

“I am not lying. There is a way to ensure that you conceive, even with the taint. I could not guarantee a healthy pregnancy or child, but I can guarantee conception.”

His voice cracking, Alistair said, “Una,” the word a plea for her not to do this.

She turned to him. “I don’t want you to die. I don’t want to die. I want … Alistair, I want our lives, what we have of them! To have a child and watch it grow, to lead Ferelden into the future and away from all this death.” She left Fergus out of it; he could take care of himself, and had done so in the past, and she wasn’t going to consider Morrigan’s generous offer of assistance for Denerim some kind of bribe, even if that was the way it had been couched. “But I can’t make this decision for you. If I did … you would always resent me for it. I—I would do this, and damn the consequences. But I’m not you, and it’s not my seed being used in this creation. So …” She gulped back a sob. “It’s up to you.”

Alistair stared at her, dumbfounded, not seeing the little smile that played across Morrigan’s mouth. How could he deny her this? But on the other hand—to create a bastard child and to agree from the start that he would abandon it as his father had him; to bring Maker knew what type of creature into the world, a creature who would be the child of a king and technically the heir to the throne … could he do such a thing and consider himself a responsible person, a king with the best interests of his kingdom at heart?

But … he looked at Una, his eyes traveling over her wide mouth and her beautiful eyes and her broad, lovely shoulders and thinking of all the nights with her in his arms, all the ways in which she was the only person who had ever believed in him, the only person who had ever really loved him. She had given so much and asked so little; could he die facing the Archdemon knowing he would never see her again, knowing he was leaving her alone, knowing it would break her heart? 

He turned to Morrigan, swallowing against the sudden dryness in his throat. His pulse was beating rapidly. “I’ll do it.”


	75. Together

Only because Una knew Morrigan so well after all the months of traveling together could she see the way the other woman's body seemed to ease, as if she had been holding her breath. Morrigan had not been certain she could convince Alistair to do this, and for some reason, that gave Una a sense of satisfaction.

"So, um … how?" Alistair stammered, feeling very strange. He was standing here in front of his lover—his wife—with her permission, her enthusiastic assent, to have sex with an exotically beautiful woman. That he hated Morrigan didn't seem to make any difference to his body; he could feel himself stirring at the idea of touching Morrigan, who had taunted and tantalized him now for months, despite all his attempts not to look at her or wonder exactly what her brief, loose top was covering.

Morrigan stood up. "It is not complicated. I believe we are all aware that you have developed some … skill in these areas in recent months. I am certain you will know what to do."

Una stood frozen. Could she stand here and watch this? Could she leave the room and spend the rest of her life wondering what happened while she was gone, if he liked it, if he wanted more? She pushed herself off the wall, making a sudden decision. "Is there room for one more?"

Both Alistair and Morrigan turned to stare at her, startled.

"What are you asking?"

Una swallowed. This was … not something she would ever have expected, but she needed to be part of it. "Will it harm the ritual if I … um, join in?"

Morrigan looked at her thoughtfully. "It will not, if you truly wish such a thing."

"Yes, I do."

"Then you are welcome. Perhaps it is as well—Alistair may appreciate having you here in addition to myself."

Alistair looked at her suspiciously, wondering if she was classing him in with men such as the Templar recruits he had spent his teenage years with, whose idea of a good time would have most definitely been a night with two women such as the ones standing before him.

Well, why shouldn't she lump him in with them? If you left aside the dire nature of the fate they were trying to avoid and the potential outcome of this night's events … he had to admit, a night with two women such as the ones standing before him sounded pretty good. He knew what Una's mouth and hands and body felt like, and that was exciting all by itself, but to add the mystery and darkness of Morrigan … He licked his lips, and Morrigan smiled, having proved her point.

"How do we start?" Una looked at Morrigan.

"I believe it is customary to begin such encounters by disrobing." And she suited the action to the words by shrugging off her loose top and unfastening the brief scrap of breastband underneath it.

It felt as though all the breath rushed out of Alistair's body at the sight of her perfectly formed breasts. He wanted his mouth on those round curves, the pink tips that weren't hardened yet. He wanted to see them wet and shimmering from his kisses.

Una swallowed against the sudden tightness in her chest. This was why she was here, she reminded herself. To watch, to see how deep the tension between her husband and her friend went, to know for herself what occurred between them. And it would ruin it all if she allowed herself to feel threatened by it, at least in this moment. What memories she tortured herself with later would be another question altogether. Quickly, she stripped until she, too, was bare to the waist, and was glad to see an equal hunger in Alistair's gaze as he looked at her.

There was a pause, almost as if time had stopped. Una half-expected to hear Morrigan say, in her cool way, that there was no need for extraneous touching, that the ritual required only the act. But the witch was watching Alistair with a mocking smile in her eyes, and seemed to be challenging him to begin.

Alistair clearly felt such a challenge, or a need, because he broke the stillness by stepping forward, raising a hand to Morrigan's breast. He did it less hesitantly than Una might have expected, and more skillfully than Morrigan had, to judge from the surprised exhale of breath, not quite a moan, that escaped the witch as his thumb stroked her nipple.

Morrigan arched her back into the touch, which grew firmer as Alistair saw, to his surprise and considerable arousal, how he was affecting her.

Una watched them uncomfortably, not certain how to put herself forward, wanting to be included but not wanting to, half-wishing she had never had this ridiculous idea. And then Alistair reached for her with his free hand, dragging her to him with a force she had rarely seen in him. One hand continued to play over Morrigan's breasts, while the other arm wrapped firmly around Una's waist, his mouth finding hers hungrily.

She whimpered with relief, returning the kiss with equal fervor. When he released her mouth to kiss Morrigan's nipple, he kept his arm around Una's waist.

That neither woman had expected Alistair to take control of the encounter was obvious to him from their passiveness, from the wonder in their eyes, both pairs a bit hazy with growing desire, he was proud to see. Not that he was the type of man to brag about his conquests—had he ever had any before Una—but he imagined other men seeing him, knowing that he had made these two extraordinarily beautiful women weak with desire for him, and he throbbed at the thought.

He broke away from Morrigan's nipple to whisper, "Clothes. Too many."

The two women seemed to take that as a challenge, because once they began on his clothes he was naked before them almost too soon to have enjoyed it. Together they moved him back toward the bed, pushing him down on it, and he lost control of the encounter immediately, unable to do anything but moan with both their mouths and both pairs of their hands on his body.

Una knew him; knew intimately everything that turned him on. Morrigan … Morrigan had learned some things somewhere, because she could do things with her mouth, and with her hands, that he had never imagined would feel as good as they did.

"Maker," he whispered.

"He has nothing to do with it," Morrigan said, nipping sharply at his shoulder.

"Let me—let me see the two of you," Alistair managed. "Kissing. Please."

They looked at one another doubtfully.

"'Tis not part of the ritual," Morrigan said. She looked at Una almost shyly.

"I don't mind." In truth, Una rather wondered what it would be like. She wasn't immune to Morrigan's beauty; before tonight, it had never occurred to her to desire the other woman, and she still didn't, not really, but a kiss couldn't hurt.

Gingerly they reached for one another. Morrigan tucked an errant lock of Una's hair behind her ear. "My friend."

Their mouths met softly, exploring the texture of one another's lips, then delicate, tentative little touches of the tongue, until they were kissing fully. It was, despite the intimacy, more sisterly in feel than sexual, at least to Una. She felt a rush of affection for this woman who had been at her side the whole way, who had kept to herself but had always been there when needed.

Morrigan broke the kiss to look at Alistair, his eyes wide and his lips parted as he watched them, his hand on himself. "None of that. You may not release until the ritual is complete. Here." She took a strip of leather worked with some type of runes and wrapped it around the base of him.

Alistair moaned, feeling all the need for release that had been there a moment ago but as if it was stopped at the source. "Please!"

"All in due time." Morrigan smiled.

With a growl of desperation, he reached for her, pulling her down next to him, his hands roaming over her bare skin, one finding her thigh and sliding upward underneath the leather of her skirt.

Una embraced him from behind, her arms around his shoulders, and he turned his head until he could kiss her. It was awkward in this position, but still fiery and sweet.

There came a moan from Morrigan as his fingers reached their goal, and the witch gasped, her hips lifting into his touch.

Behind him, he could feel Una shifiting, removing the rest of her clothes, and then her long, bare leg was wrapping itself over his. Having her here for this—it was odd, a little, but he appreciated it. They were making this decision together, participating in this ritual together; whatever its consequences, they would face them together. He removed his hand from Morrigan and rolled over to gather Una into his arms, holding her tightly while he attended to her needs as well.

Morrigan got up from the bed and took a vial of something from her skirt before dropping the skirt onto the floor. She began to anoint herself with the contents of the vial as she watched them.

"Alistair." Una pressed herself against his hand. "Alistair."

He reminded himself of the unbelievable truth that this was his wife—his wife—and suddenly his reservations about this ritual were gone. He wanted what she wanted, their lives together, as much of them as they could have, and their family, and if that meant sleeping with Morrigan and creating some god-child he would never see … he would have to live with that. Better that than living without Una, or dying without ever seeing the mother she could be, the queen she would become.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear.

"Then finish it, my darling."

"Yes." He wasn't certain if she had meant herself or the ritual, but he could do both. One hand moved inside Una, seeking and finding the spot he had learned made her come undone, and beneath him she cried out, shaking, her hand gripping his wrist. With the other hand, he reached for Morrigan, drawing her against him, seeking her nipple with his lips again, drawing it deep into his mouth. She tasted different, wilder, and some scent hung about her now, probably from the vial, that filled his head and narrowed his vision, the room growing shadowy around him. He was only vaguely aware of Morrigan positioning him on his back, of Una moving to cradle him against her body, supporting him, but he was vividly aware of every sensation as Morrigan stretched herself atop him, deftly finding him and guiding him inside her. Words spilled from her mouth, strange words that excited him and dizzied him. Nothing existed but this moment, the softness of Una's hair brushing the side of his face and the heat of Morrigan surrounding him, the pleasure building unbearably while that strip of leather kept it from exploding.

Morrigan's voice rose to a shout, her back arched as she moved on him, her face tipped up to the ceiling where some kind of swirly glow was happening. Alistair couldn't focus on it; he was desperate for his release, maddened with it.

Suddenly Morrigan said, sharply, "Now, Alistair," and he felt himself swell impossibly larger, the strip of leather snapping or disappearing or he didn't care what, and the pleasure boiled through him, practically scalding him with its intensity. He might have heard Morrigan shriek, or was that himself? He wasn't sure; blackness surrounded him, and he sank back against Una's shoulder, utterly spent.

Una eased herself out from under him, laying him back gently against the pillows. Stroking his hair, she waited as Morrigan regained her own senses, rising from the bed and cleaning herself up and putting her clothes back on.

At last the witch turned to her. "Thank you, my friend."

"Thank Alistair. It was his decision."

"We both know that it was not."

"Either way, I … appreciate you including me."

"That was not what I expected, I will admit, but it was … not unpleasant."

Una glanced at the still figure of her husband. "Will he be all right?"

Morrigan laughed. "Oh, yes. Hungrier than ever—in many ways—but he will be himself. Not as clumsy as I had anticipated he would be, for which I am certain I also have you to thank."

Grinning, Una shook her head. "Natural skills."

"Then you are a more fortunate woman than I had imagined." Morrigan's eyes held Una's. "Speaking of fortunate, I have not forgotten our agreement; either of them. I will fly to Denerim this night with news of the army's approach. If I can spare your brother or that hound of yours, I will do so. And when you arrive in Denerim, I will have a vial for you, and … my best wishes."

"Thank you, Morrigan."

The witch shook her head. "I have never had a friend before. I may never have one again. You have given me that gift, among many others, none of which I imagined possible. It is I who thank you." With a brief touch of her palm to Una's shoulder, she hurried out of the room.


	76. Disquiet

Alistair woke the next morning with an aching head and only a very vague memory of what had happened last night. He opened his eyes to see Una looking at him anxiously.

“Are you all right? You slept very hard.”

“Still pretty groggy,” he admitted. He sat up, rubbing his face. “Was I having a nightmare or did I—we—have sex with Morrigan last night?”

“No nightmare. That was real.”

“Huh.”

“Do you … want to talk about it?”

He shook his head, climbing out of bed and beginning to clean himself up. “Not really. We should get moving, anyway. The armies need to hurry.” Una was already dressed, he noticed.”Did you get any sleep?”

“Not much.” She tucked a last few things into her pack before cinching it closed. “Morrigan flew to Denerim last night.”

“Did she? Good. I’m glad. Hopefully she’ll be in time to help the people there.”

Una nodded, trying not to think of Fergus and Grenli left there with the horde coming. “Alistair—“

“Don’t.” Half-dressed, he turned to her, seeing at last the whiteness of her face and the way her eyes seemed unusually large. She was frightened, probably of what he was going to say. He reached out and took her by the shoulders, drawing her close to him. “It’s all right, love.”

“You say that now, but … some day …”

“Why don’t we let some day take care of itself? For now, we have a lot ahead of us, and I can’t dwell on what we did last night or I’ll … I just can’t think about it right now. And—whatever happens, I don’t want to spend a single moment with you arguing, when we don’t know—“ His arms tightened around her. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Una wanted to remind him that Morrigan said neither of them would have to die now, but she understood why he didn’t want to think any further about the ritual, and knew that he probably wouldn’t entirely believe Morrigan anyway.

“Now, should we get our troops together and move out? I’ll feel better when we’re on our way to Denerim.”

“As will I.”

It was a subdued and hurried march; the troops all felt the same need to hurry, the same concern about those left helpless and unprepared in Denerim, the same unhappiness about any wasted moment.

Una’s people were quiet, as well, lost in their own thoughts. Only Oghren had asked about Morrigan’s sudden disappearance. Una had explained that the witch had flown ahead to warn Denerim, but it was such an uncharacteristic action on Morrigan’s part that Una could feel both Leliana and Zevran studying her, the weight of their speculation heavy on her shoulders. But they couldn’t tell anyone what had truly occurred; not even their dearest friends. It could endanger Alistair’s rule, and Morrigan herself, and thus all of them when they faced the Archdemon.

Alistair wasn’t feeling particularly talkative, either, still trying to overcome his lingering distaste and disquiet after the ritual. He didn’t blame Una … exactly … but she hadn’t said no. She had left it up to him, but made it plain what she wanted. Could he have said no, broken her heart, sacrificed himself, left her to rule Ferelden without him? He supposed it was possible, but it would have been the hardest thing he had ever done in his life, harder by far than spending a night with two beautiful women, harder than living the rest of his life knowing he had a child he would never meet. 

All of which meant that he ought to own the responsibility for the decision that was made, but it was new to him. He had grown so used to letting Una make the decisions … He reminded himself that he was the King now. The decisions would be his. Her opinion would be valuable, and always needed and appreciated, but he had to learn to be decisive on his own.

He had merely started with a decision of such great momentousness that he was still reeling from it, he told himself. When they reached Denerim, when they had the Archdemon in front of them to fight, he would feel better.

Una had her own disquiets, pressing in on her from all sides. Fergus and Grenli in Denerim—had Morrigan found them? Had she reached them in time? Had Fergus stubbornly insisted on leading the defense against the darkspawn and gotten himself killed anyway? He was the last of her family, miraculously returned to her long after she had given him up for dead. She couldn’t lose him again, not so soon after having gotten him back. And Grenli had been at her side through—all of it. Every step of the way. His unswerving loyalty and unparalleled affection had given her strength at times when she had needed it desperately.

Every time she managed to pull her thoughts away from concerns for their safety, she ran again into the problem of Alistair, and Morrigan, and that ritual.

That Alistair had been a willing participant had been evident … but not quite as willing as she would have expected, which had been a relief to her. On the other hand, what she had asked him to do, to create a bastard child who would grow up abandoned by his father just the way Alistair himself had been, went against everything he was, everything he had promised himself he would be. And Una knew what she had done—in telling him she would do the ritual and then turning the decision over to him, she had all but guaranteed that he would say yes. Did he know that? Did he feel manipulated, blame her for what had happened?

Then, in the midst of her turmoil, he reached for her, pulling her against him, and the troops went by, some staring, some trying just as openly not to stare, as they clung to one another.

In a rush, Una said, “I’m sorry I made you do that. I couldn’t let you die.”

“I know. I couldn’t leave you, either.” Alistair cupped the side of her face. 

“So … we’re all right? You’re not resenting me for … what we did?”

“No. But—I’m glad we did it together.” His eyes warmed. “And not just because watching you and Morrigan kiss is a memory I’ll be holding on to for a long time.”

“That’s what you’re taking away from this?”

“Mayyybe.”

“’Ey. Yer Highnesses! Get a tent!” Oghren shouted as he went by them, waving his axe in the air.

Alistair and Una chuckled and clung to one another.

“Now,” said Alistair, “let’s get to Denerim and kill this Archdemon.”


	77. Gates

They could hear the sounds of battle before they reached the city, and the troops cheered—after such a long march dreading what was to come, it was a relief to all of them to finally have something in front of them to fight. There had been stray darkspawn on the way, easily handled by a few soldiers, but this was the horde ahead of them. This was what they had all signed on to fight, and they were ready.

Una dreaded what she would find, but there was no more time to dwell on that. She had a job to do. Raising her hammer, she shouted for the troops to follow her, and together they joined battle with the darkspawn surrounding the city gates.

She and her crew were used to fighting darkspawn, and they had the armies with them—but there was an army of darkspawn, as well, and there was a point when, sweaty and bloody and so tired she wasn’t certain she could raise the hammer one more time, she despaired of ever getting through the horde to the gates … much less past them to the Archdemon. 

It had to be a good sign that this many of the darkspawn were still outside the city, though, she thought. Maybe what they would find inside the gates wouldn’t be as bad as they’d feared. The thought gave her renewed strength, and she shouted to her armies to follow her, to give their all in one big push that would take them into the city.

Next to her, Alistair took up the cheer. “For Ferelden! For the Grey Wardens!”

Una raised her hammer and faced off against a massive hurlock, meeting him blow for blow. Slowly she realized that he was edging her backward, away from the gates and away from her team. Everyone she could see was fully occupied; there was no help to be found, and the hurlock was pressing the attack, taking advantage of a shoulder wound she’d sustained earlier.

Suddenly a bird swooped over the hurlock’s head, a big black bird. It touched down on the ground and immediately became a giant black spider, spitting poison at the hurlock. Una fell back, letting Morrigan do her worst to the darkspawn, taking advantage of the momentary break in combat to rest the hammer on the ground and give her arms a break.

As soon as the hurlock fell, Morrigan shifted back to herself. Without a word, she put her hands on Una’s shoulder and repaired the wound there.

“Good timing,” Una said with relief.

Morrigan gave a faint smile. “It seemed the least I could do.”

“It looks like you got here in time.” She didn’t want to ask about Fergus and Grenli, couldn’t bring herself to. As long as she didn’t ask, they were okay.

“Yes; the citizens were able to prepare, once I convinced your brother the threat was real. He is inside, with your animal, although I was not able to keep either of them from the fray.” Her golden eyes warmed slightly. “In my place, I do not believe you could have, either.”

“Probably not.” Una could feel her smile stretching from ear to ear. Fergus was alive! It was as though she had never been tired; she flung herself back into the fight with fresh energy and determination.

At last she was able to push through to the gates, to make her way inside Denerim through the grim-faced ranks of soldiers holding off as many of the darkspawn as they could.

She looked immediately for Fergus, eventually finding him by the sound of his voice, shouting to be heard above the din. He shouted at her, too, when she first touched his arm, then he looked at her again and his face lit up. Next to him, Grenli barked and whined a welcome, and Una’s hand dropped to the dog’s head, scratching his ears.

“Here you are at last!” Fergus said in relief.

“Yes. I’m sorry we weren’t here to begin with. Has it been hard to hold?”

“Hard enough.” He clapped Alistair on the back. “Welcome to your capital city, Your Majesty. Such as is left of it.”

“Did you have time to get any of the people out?” Alistair asked.

“Some. Women and children are mostly being kept in the Chantry; we’ve got people trying to protect the building, but the darkspawn have infiltrated the city. It’s been … difficult.” 

“We’re going to end this, Fergus,” Una assured him. 

“I wish I knew how. I wish I didn’t have to send my little sister up against the most terrifying creature I’ve ever seen.” He shook his head. “If our parents could see us now.”

“See you letting me defend you? If only.” Una grinned at him. 

He pulled her close, whispering into her hair. “Please be careful. I can’t lose you again.”

“I know. Me, too. I love you.”

“I love you, too, pup.”

At their knees, a hairy head was wedging itself between them, and they both laughed and dropped a hand to pet Grenli. “You stay here with Fergus,” Una told him. “Anything happens, you get him out of Denerim and somewhere safe, you hear me?”

Fergus glanced at his injured leg doubtfully, but Grenli yipped his agreement confidently, and Una dropped to her knees, hugging the dog. 

He was the only one who really knew what it had been like that night at the castle, the only one who had been with her all along. “Thank you, boy,” she whispered into his fur. “Thank you.”

He gave a soft whine, nuzzling against her cheek.

“Your fellow Warden is here somewhere. He said he would find you once you arrived.” Fergus shouted at someone over Una’s shoulder. He squeezed her hand. “I have to get back to it, and so do you. Maker go with you, sis.”

“And with you.” She watched him go, Grenli at his side.

After a few minutes, Alistair was able to isolate the feeling of Riordan’s taint above that of the darkspawn, and they sought out the older Warden.

Riordan greeted them soberly. “I am glad you are here. The Archdemon is within the city; this day it ends, one way or another.”

“There’s only one way,” Una said with determination.

He nodded. “Let us hope that is true.”

“How do we do this?” Alistair asked.

Riordan looked off into the center of the city. “We must draw the Archdemon to higher ground.”

“The top of Fort Drakon,” Alistair said.

“Yes. That sounds like a good place.” Riordan looked at Una. “Take Alistair and a small team into the city. The Archdemon will be drawn to the taint within you, and I will follow you and hope to take it by surprise.”

“All right.” 

Riordan held her gaze, and then Alistair’s, very seriously. “Nothing you have done will have prepared you for what you face today. May the Maker watch over you.”

“And over you,” Alistair said softly. Una wanted to hug him, to assure him it would all be okay, but she couldn’t know that any more than he did.

Instead she looked at her people. “Morrigan; Leliana?” They had begun this, the four of them. They would finish it.

Both women nodded, Morrigan with some surprise. But Una was taking no chances; she wanted Morrigan in at the kill to ensure her proximity to the Archdemon when it fell.

“Oghren, Wynne, Zev, can you help Fergus handle things at the gates?” She gave the dwarf an anxious glance. “Oghren, keep him safe, will you?”

“I got this, Warden,” he growled, hefting his axe. “We’ll show them our hearts … and then show them theirs.”

She smiled at him. “Well said.”

He gave a nod and moved off, barking orders.

Una hugged Wynne. “Take care of yourself.”

Wynne smiled. “You, too, my friend.” She turned to Alistair, hugging him tenderly. “I am infinitely proud of you, my boy,” she whispered. “I hope you know that.”

“I do. Thank you, Wynne. I … never met my mother, or … well, any of my family, but I like to think that maybe someone in there was like you.” It wasn’t quite what he had meant to say, but from the smile on the mage’s face, she understood.

Not far away, Leliana and Zevran stood close to one another, speaking quietly. No one watching them could have guessed that there was anything more to their relationship than good comradeship, but Una knew they were saying their … well, did assassins and bards say good-bye, or did they simply trust to fate to bring them together again if they were meant to be? She didn’t know.

She went to them both, and they smiled at her. “My dear Warden,” Zev said. “If you must leave me behind, then be certain to take care of yourself, and of this delightful nightingale, in my absence. And we will celebrate with abandon when you return.”

“I look forward to it.” She wanted to hug him, but it didn’t seem like the right time. For all his innuendo, Zev kept a wall around himself, and she wouldn’t breach that wall without his permission.

Leliana put a hand on her arm. “It has been my honor, my friend. Let us crush this Archdemon into the earth as the Maker wills.”

“And if the Maker doesn’t will?”

“How could he not?” Leliana asked simply, and Una wished with all her heart that she shared her friend’s simple faith.

“Just a few more minutes,” she said, and Leliana and Zev nodded, exchanging a glance full of unspoken thoughts.

As Una knelt to check the buckles and straps on her armor one more time, Morrigan knelt next to her. “You know that when the battle is over, I will not be here?”

“I know.”

“I wished to say this, before we go.”

Una turned to look at the witch. 

“I knew nothing of friendship before we met. And I will always consider you such.” She put a hand tentatively on Una’s shoulder. “Live well, my friend. Live gloriously.”

Una blinked back the sudden sting of tears. “I still hope someday we’ll see each other again. I know,” Una said, holding up a hand to forestall Morrigan’s disagreement. “Thank you for … being here, for saving our lives more times than I can count, for saving Fergus, for … your other help,” she blushed, thinking of the vials tucked away with her things, enough to conceive several times over. “For everything.”

“You are most welcome. It is, I think, the very least I could have offered you in exchange for all that you have given me.” Morrigan swallowed visibly, and moved hastily away before Una could say any more.

Standing up, Una found herself wrapped in strong arms, and she turned around and leaned her head against Alistair’s shoulder. “Neither of us are going to die today, Alistair.” She hoped it was true; she had to believe it was true.

He shook his head. “You put more faith in Morrigan than I would in your shoes.” He held her more tightly for a moment. “Just remember that no ritual protects us from getting squished by that Archdemon. So let’s kick its ass.”

“Let’s do that.” Una tipped her head back a little to look at him. “I love you, Alistair.”

“And I love you. Always.”

They broke apart, gesturing at Leliana and Morrigan. Zev came over, taking Una’s face in his hands and kissing her on the forehead. “Go safely, my friend.” 

She nodded at him, giving the line of her companions a final look. How she had come to love them; how she hoped that they would all survive the day. 

And then she looked ahead, toward Fort Drakon and the circling, screaming form of the Archdemon, high in the sky. If they were all to survive, it was time for her to get to work. She led her small team forward.

The soldiers cheered them as they passed, calling out encouragement and support. Una shook her hammer above her head. Knowing they were behind her made what lay ahead much easier to face.


	78. Archdemon

They had fought darkspawn from one end of Thedas to another; Una would have thought she and her team were experts at it by this point. But this was unrelenting. They seemed to jump out at her from every corner, and the taint surrounded her, crawling inside her body, letting her know they were everywhere. 

There were few citizens to be found. Most of them had barricaded themselves inside the Chantry or fled, their belongings strewn across Denerim as they went, and for that, Una was grateful. The fewer tainted creatures the darkspawn left behind, the better for everyone.

She and her team stopped for a rest in the shadow of a building, taking long drinks from the canteens they carried. Una was so tired from the battle at the gates and the effort of making it this far into the city that she didn’t know how she was going to continue on to Fort Drakon and fight the Archdemon, too.

Suddenly Leliana gasped, and Una looked over to see her friend staring up at the sky, her face tense and worried. Following Leliana’s gaze, Una saw the Archdemon. It was swirling erratically in the sky, making sudden dips and rises and turns. Frowning, she narrowed her eyes, trying to see what was making it act that way. She saw a dark speck on its back, and gasped in her own turn.

“What?” Alistair asked. He was shading his eyes with his hand as he looked up.

“I think … I think it’s Riordan. On the Archdemon’s back.”

“Maker,” Alistair breathed. 

They all stood without moving, watching the dark speck move on the dragon’s back. It came loose and freefell for a moment, and Una’s heart stuck in her throat. Then the figure caught itself on a wing, causing the Archdemon to shriek in rage and pain.

And then the figure fell, hurtling through the sky. Una couldn’t watch; she turned and pressed her face against Alistair’s shoulder, regardless of the darkspawn blood that covered his armor.

There was a silence, and then Morrigan said, “He has failed.”

For once, Alistair didn’t bother to correct the witch, or to argue about her tone. His arms around Una, he said hoarsely, “It’s up to us now.”

It was. As they had both somehow known it woud be. Una let go of him, looking at Morrigan, who nodded briefly. 

“Look,” Leliana said. “It’s injured.”

And so it was; the dragon was flailing around in the sky, its wing torn by Riordan’s last act. As they watched, the Archdemon settled heavily onto the roof of Fort Drakon.

“It’s down,” Alistair said. “Let’s get it done.”

“After you, my liege,” Una said, and he smiled at her briefly, acknowledging how things had changed, before leading the way toward the fort.

Fort Drakon was overrun with darkspawn. Fortunately some of the armies they had collected were catching up at that point, so the four of them finally had some help. The elves were particularly effective—swift and agile, their arrows sailng through the air and finding the vulnerable places in the darkspawn with ease.

The mages were coming along as well, with the dwarves as their shield. The troops from Redcliffe were mostly still at the gates, but that was fine by Una, as long as they kept the darkspawn off the backs of her team. The dwarves and elves remained around the entrance of the fort and on the first floor. 

One of them, Legion of the Dead to judge by his armor, saluted Una and said, “We’ll keep any more of ‘em from comin’ up, salroka. You just take out that Archdemon.”

“Will do,” she said, with more energy and bravado than she really possessed. Alistair had taken the lead now, and she had to hurry to keep up with him. There was an energy in him that she had never seen before, and she was in awe of him; he was a true king now, at the forefront of his people. Leading with intelligence and confidence and experience. This was what Cailan could have been, given time and support.

They made it to the roof at last. They could hear the Archdemon screaming through the heavy doors, and they stopped and looked at one another.

“So it comes,” Morrigan said. “I will be both pleased and …” She searched for the right word, finally settling on, “wistful when this is all past and behind us.”

Leliana looked surprised at Morrigan’s sentiment, but she nodded, as well, agreeing. “Wistful, indeed. And more.”

Alistair reached for Una’s hand. There were no words that hadn’t already been said, so they squeezed each other’s hand and expressed all their hopes and their longings and their love in one final glance before Alistair withdrew his hand and turned to the doors, throwing them open in one powerful movement.

A blast of corruption struck the stones directly in front of his feet as the dragon roared its defiance. It was injured; crippled—but it was by no means defeated, or defenseless. Leliana nocked an arrow, Morrigan drew her staff, and Alistair and Una looked at each other and nodded. Their friends would cover them, but the task was theirs to do. It was what the Joining was meant for; what Duncan had recruited them for; what Cailan had kept them off the main battlefield at Ostagar to accomplish; what the armies they had gathered trusted them to do; what their people needed.

Together they turned toward the dragon. Una could feel Morrigan’s magic in the air; Leliana’s arrows sped past her shoulder. Most of them bounced off the dragon, but a few found more vulnerable targets and stuck. The magic was having slightly better luck; Morrigan appeared to be focusing on the wings, making certain the dragon couldn’t take to the skies, ever again.

Alistair dropped his shield. It wouldn’t be much use against the dragon and would only slow him down. Together, they attacked. Una focused her blows at the legs, trying to use the giant hammer to injure the dragon’s knees and tendons. The legs were an important part of its weaponry; if she could cripple those, they would be that much closer to being able to kill it.

Of course, the dragon was hardly standing still and waiting to be killed. Blasts of corrupted fluid issued forth from its mouth, and its great teeth and claws snapped and slashed wherever they could. The tail and legs were capable of sending a strong man flying.

But they were not alone; from behind them, more magic flew as the mages from the Circle joined Morrigan and Leliana. A glance over her shoulder told Una that her friends were keeping the mages back, hoping to avoid losing any of them to the taint.

After all the fighting they had done these past months—the werewolves in the Brecilian Forest, the walking dead at Redcliffe, the abominations in the Circle Tower, the endless waves of enemies in the Deep Roads—one dragon, Archdemon though it might be, hardly seemed to be enough to end it all. With the armies at the base of the fort keeping back the darkspawn horde and the mages in support behind them, Una and Alistair took out all the frustrations and anger of the last months on the Archdemon, pounding and slashing at it mercilessly, ducking blows of tooth and claw and tail, as well as the occasional misplaced spell.

At last, the dragon seemed to be flagging, its head drooping toward the stones of the rooftop. Una hefted her hammer, ready to bring it down on the Archdemon’s head, to smash in its brains once and for all, but a gauntleted hand caught the weaspon’s shaft before it could descend.

“No,” Alistair said. “I will not let you risk this.”

“You’re the King. I have a duty—“

Alistair interrupted her, speaking rapidly and intensely. “I have a duty as well. I am the senior Grey Warden of Ferelden; I am your husband; if there is the faintest possibility that I might be the father of your child right now …” He shook his head. “And I am the King of Ferelden, however improbable that is, and I will not have my subjects think there is a single thing I would not dare for their sake.”

Tears filled Una’s eyes as she stepped back. The mages had ceased their work at the doors of the tower as the dragon lay panting at the feet of the Grey Wardens. Everything seemed to still and come to a halt as Alistair lifted her hand, kissing the blood-spattered fingers of her gauntlet. “I love you, you know that.”

She nodded. “I love you, too.”

He let go of her hand, lifting his sword. Una stepped back further, and, putting all his weight behind the blow, Alistair rammed the sword through the Archdemon’s skull into its brain.

A massive column of white light exploded from the Archdemon’s head, shooting into the air. Alistair held on to the sword, crying out as he did so. Una wanted to go to him, but something held her back, kept her out of that column of light. 

And then it was gone. The Archdemon lay dead on the roof, and Alistair lay beside it, his eyes closed. Una couldn’t see if his chest was moving. Calling his name, she fell to her knees next to him.

She took his hand and stripped the gauntlet from it, bringing it to her lips. It was still warm. She took off her own gauntlets and felt his wrist with her fingertips, nearly weeping with joy when she felt the telltale pulse of his heart beneath the skin. “Thank you, thank you,” she whispered. Possibly she should have meant the Maker, but the faces in her mind, beaming with shared joy, were those of her parents.

Leliana came to her, putting a gentle hand on Una’s shoulder, kneeling next to her. “Morrigan said you would know everything you needed to know. And that you are most welcome.”

“He lives,” Una said. “He’s alive.”

“She said that, too.” 

With a great sigh, Una got to her feet. “Keep everyone back. The blood is still tainted; I don’t want to take any chances. I need buckets, both empty and full of water, and once I get him cleaned up, I’ll need someone to carry Alistair to where he can recover safely. And Wynne should look him over as soon as possible.”

“As you say.” Leliana gave her a quick smile before turning.

Left alone on the rooftop, Una surveyed the city spread around her. It had suffered a blow, but it would recover. She and Alistair would see to that.

At her feet, he stirred, putting a hand to his head and groaning. She stooped, laying her hand over his, and his eyes opened. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Is this the Fade?”

“Not unless the whole city went there at once.” She smiled.

“So … it’s over?”

Una shook her head. “No, my darling. It’s just beginning. We have our whole lives ahead of us; together.”

Alistair smiled, too, squeezing her hand. Then his eyes closed again and he rested his head against her shoulder, sighing as he slipped into sleep. 

From far below, Una could dimly hear the cheers of the armies. The Blight was over.


	79. Wonderful

The next few days were the busiest Una had ever experienced. She and Alistair were everywhere—as the only two people in Denerim who could be in contact with the taint without fear of infection, they were sought after for all the clean-up tasks, regardless of their status and importance, which was the way they wanted it. There was time enough to be royal later; for now, they were still Grey Wardens.

Meanwhile, Fergus had taken charge of caring for the refugees, and Arl Eamon was overseeing the rebuilding process. Wynne was much sought after for her healing. Zev had more or less taken to the shadows, feeling that he would prefer to keep as much scrutiny off himself as possible, while Leliana was in the Chantry helping the mothers to collect untainted food.

Morrigan had disappeared, as she had said she would. Una wondered where the witch had gone; had she flown away? She must have, to escape so cleanly.

Alistair wondered about the child the witch carried inside her. His child. Would it be a boy or a girl? Would it favor Morrigan or him? Would he ever see it? He imagined after a while he would think about it less, once the burdens of monarchy settled on his shoulders, once he and Una, with any luck, produced children of their own. He tried to push the thought away, but he couldn't entirely get the child out of his mind.

At last there came a day when things seemed, not complete, entirely, but more settled, at least. Time for a moment in which to celebrate their victory.

Leliana and the Grand Cleric had put it together; all Alistair and Una had to do was show up. Outside, the people gathered, waiting for them to promenade through the streets, letting their subjects see them, young and energetic and ready to take on the myriad problems of the nation. Inside, their companions and most of the nobility stood waiting for them.

Alistair climbed the dais, looking out over his people. It still seemed strange to him, that these were his people, that he was to lead them, but it was also beginning to feel good. Right. As though this was where he was meant to be. He very much wished he could talk to his father, or his brother, find out if they had felt the same way.

But everyone was looking at him, and he grinned at them. "Sorry. Apparently I'm supposed to talk now. Bear with me, please." And because he had killed an Archdemon for them, they laughed. Still smiling, he waited for the laughter to die down. "My friends," he said, "we are gathered to celebrate our victory over the darkspawn. So many stood against the foe, fought bravely. Many gave their lives in this cause. And we—Fereldans—made this the shortest Blight in history. Together." At that, they cheered him. "You have my pledge that as your king, I will never forget what Ferelden is capable of when all her people work together." He wondered how many of the nobles present, how many of the representatives of the mages, the elves, and the dwarves, understood how fully he meant those words. If he had anything to say about it, and he was pretty sure he did, things would change for all three groups.

He looked down into the audience, into the wide golden eyes of the woman he loved. "Of those who stood against the darkspawn, there is one in particular who deserves all the accolades Ferelden can hand her. From the muddy ground of Lothering, where she stood almost alone, she built an army of Ferelden's people, the army that defeated the Blight, and at my side, she took down the Archdemon."

Una smiled at him and started walking forward. Her awkward giraffe's lope had given way to a more confident walk, long of stride and sure of tread. Alistair wondered when he had missed that change. His love had come into her own; she knew who she was. "Fereldans one and all, I give you Una Cousland, my—" He nearly said 'my wife', but caught himself, remembering that it had been a secret ceremony. "My betrothed, soon to be your queen."

They cheered her loud and long. Una turned to look out at the audience. She saw Fergus clapping vigorously, and behind him, in the shadows, she could almost pretend she saw her parents. If they were here today, somehow, in some way, she hoped they understood that she couldn't have done it, any of it, without them.

"Fereldans," she said. "All of you. We did this together; today we celebrate the victory of all of us. And I am honored to be one of you, and will be honored to lead you at the side of your king, the slayer of the Archdemon." At that, as she intended, they cheered Alistair, and he stood tall, his shoulders straight. And Una was glad that he had taken that final blow, because in that moment he had earned his crown in his own mind—it was now and always would be something he felt he deserved, not through any efforts of hers, but through his own action in saving his country and living up to the oath he had sworn as a Grey Warden.

Since so many of the people wanted to speak to them, they had agreed beforehand to separate as they moved through the crowd, not without a few jokes from Alistair about how likely he was to put his foot in his mouth.

Eamon buttonholed Alistair almost immediately, a smiling Teagan at his side. "My boy! I can barely believe it's over. The two of you stopped the civil war and ended the Blight."

"If only Maric could see you now," Teagan added softly, and Alistair smiled at him.

"If he was here, there never would have been a civil war. Maybe we could have stopped the Blight sooner," he said.

"Indeed. And what will you do with Loghain and Anora?" Eamon asked. "You know they will not stop plotting against you."

"Anora's done nothing wrong, nothing except be widowed and deposed. I can take no legal action against her, other than to ask her to sign an oath that she will never set foot in Ferelden again. Loghain …" Alistair could barely say the name without snarling. "Loghain will be put in front of a tribunal and they will determine his punishment."

"Not executed?"

"Only if the tribunal rules it. I will have no one say that I executed him hastily out of a sense of vengeance, much as I might like to do so."

There was admiration in Teagan's look and surprise in Eamon's. Alistair wondered if they ever regretted the stables and the Chantry. "What will you do now?" he asked them.

Eamon sighed. "I will return to Redcliffe. Although, with Connor at the Circle … Isolde is not keen to relive all that has happened there." He looked at Teagan. "I may yet leave the Arling to you."

Teagan made no comment, simply bowed his head in acknowledgement. Alistair wondered if there was a gleam in his uncle's eye, but if so, it was gone quickly.

Across the hall, Una found Wynne waiting for her. The mage smiled gently. "The Hero of Ferelden," she said.

"That's Alistair. It isn't me."

"Yes, but you brought him here. I think we all know that."

"Thank you, Wynne." She hesitated. "Will you be returning to the Tower now?"

Wynne shook her head. "Irving has asked me to step in as First Enchanter—I believe after his experiences he feels rather weary."

"Not surprising."

"No. But … after all this, I couldn't go back there and wall myself up again. Besides, I've been given a rather important task."

"What's that?"

"I have been asked to remain here in the palace; Alistair wants to do something about the lot of mages—and I believe he would like a healer at hand, just in case one should be necessary." The mage's eyes twinkled, leaving little doubt as to what Alistair hoped they would need a healer for.

"I hope one becomes necessary very soon," Una said fervently.

"As do I, my dear."

After they finished speaking with the nobles, Una and Alistair made their way through the crowds, and they walked through the streets and let the people see them. The day wore on. Una smiled until her cheeks ached, but it was so nice to be able to smile and be happy and not worry about what was going to come crashing down around her tomorrow.

Soon enough, the problems of monarchy would settle around them, but for now, there was peace and relative harmony.

At a small private dinner later, which Wynne begged off from pleading weariness, Una and Alistair and Zev and Leliana and Fergus toasted each other and their success. Grenli lay comfortably at Una's feet. Oghren had been invited, but had been in the middle of a pickle juice drink-off with Teagan, neither of them in any condition for much. What the dwarf intended to do with himself was a mystery all around, but Una imagined he would land on his feet.

Leliana and Zev seemed serene and at peace, the pair of them, and Una hoped they had come to an understanding regarding their future. She smiled at them, pleased with them, until they both burst into laughter.

"Our lovely Warden is seeing stars, my beauty," Zev said.

"The wrong kind, I am afraid." Leliana shook her head gently. "I do hope you are not building castles in the air where a crow and a nightingale can build a nest together, my friend."

"You mean, they're not going to?" Una asked, crestfallen.

"I am afraid not. The Chantry has asked me to go back to Haven, to study the Sacred Ashes, to lead pilgrimages if there are any. It is important work, and I want to do it—"

"But it is hardly the type of work for which one needs a highly trained assassin," Zev finished for her. His hand lightly curled around Leliana's on the table. "And I must return to Antiva and make my former masters very, very miserable, work that is best done alone."

"So … you're both not only leaving each other, you're leaving us, too?" Una asked, near tears.

"My dear, you have only to purse your lovely lips together and … whistle, and I shall come running." Zev grinned as Alistair put his arm possessively around Una's shoulders. "But you do not need an assassin to begin your reign."

"And I must go where the Maker wills," Leliana said. "But I imagine I will be back occasionally. And there are always letters."

"There are, but I'm going to miss you both so much. What would I have done without you?"

"Hey!" Alistair protested mildly. But he smiled at their friends. "That goes for me, too, I hope you know that. If there's ever anything … anything legal and befitting the dignity of a king," he amended, frowning at Zev, "that you need, please don't hesitate to ask."

Zev grinned. "And with that, I believe we take our leave of you this evening. Should we stay longer, I will become maudlin, and that is not attractive."

Una hugged them both. She had known that the death of the Archdemon would change things, but to lose her dearest friends so soon afterward was not what she had expected.

Left alone with Alistair and Fergus, she said as much.

"Life is change, sister," Fergus said sadly, and she knew he was thinking of Oren and Oriana. "I'm going to have to go back to Highever and begin to clean up the mess that waits for me there. I have little stomach for the task, but it has to be done. And then … find me a nice girl, will you? Someone … someone who can make me laugh."

Una cocked an eyebrow at Alistair. "You think you have a sister out there somewhere?"

"You mean … Goldanna?" He looked at her in horror, and she laughed.

"No. I was just wondering if Maric ever had any daughters."

"Not that I know of." Alistair frowned. "I don't think I want to know." He looked at Fergus seriously. "Is there anything we can do to help, with Highever?"

"I don't think so. Be there for me when I come back to Denerim. I'm—I'll need it."

"Of course."

Una couldn't help remembering that last day at Highever, the way the family had all surrounded Fergus when he left, the six of them all together. "Fergus," she said abruptly, "this may sound strange."

He raised his eyebrows. "All right."

"If … if you need guidance, try writing a letter to Mother and Father, and then … burn it."

"Burn the letter?"

"Yes." He was looking at her as though she had lost her mind, and Una added, "I mean it. You might find more … comfort in it than you expect." She imagined that she, too, might need to speak to them again in the coming years, as she and Alistair faced the challenges of marriage and monarchy … but probably not as much as Fergus would, at least in the near future.

"All right, pup, if you say so." Fergus looked at the two of them. "I'm just glad to know that you're both safe and sound. I'll stay for the wedding, of course—the formal version. But I'm glad I was able to be with you for the real one."

"So am I." Una held her brother tightly. She still couldn't believe they had found each other again in the midst of all of this.

He took his leave, and Una and Alistair undressed and got into bed. Snuggling against his warmth, Una said reluctantly, "We probably should observe the formalities and sleep apart."

Alistair's arms tightened around her. "Not going to happen."

"Are you sure? It's not exactly … done, sleeping together before marriage."

"It's absolutely done, because we're doing it. I killed the Archdemon and you're the Hero of Ferelden—I think we've earned some eccentricities. Besides, we've been sleeping in camps all over the country; I think everyone imagines we've been intimate by now."

"Well … if you insist."

"Oh, yes."

Una tucked her face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. "I love you, Alistair."

"And I love you. Always."

They drifted off to sleep. A troubled, nightmare-filled sleep, because they were still Grey Wardens, but they were together. They had defeated the Archdemon and lived to tell about it; they were ready to lead their nation into a brighter future. They had found each other, in the midst of the darkness, and that was a rare and wonderful thing.


End file.
